Absence Suits You Best
by kyla k
Summary: To what extent do we invent our own identities?  To whom do we reveal our true selves? Fluff evolves into drama, sex, death, pranks, and obsession as the story unfolds. Ends up very twisted. OC's POV. Bad summary. KennyXOC, Style, ButtersxTweek, Candy
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is my first fanfiction, ever. I chose to write from an OC's point of view because it sounded less contrived than third person POV, and because it was easier for me to convey emotion that way. Starts out as fluffy romance stuff and gets more and more twisted—perfect if you like a mix of both. Starts out a bit slow IMO but needs the slower chapters for backstory. Features most main characters but ends up being largely about Kenny. I started this thinking it would have about 15 chapters. I do have most of it written, but I will post it as I clean it up. Contains lots of het and a good bit of yaoi. You have been warned. Also, I know some may see a few scenes as OOC but we are talking about the South Park kids at 18 years old, so anything could have happened. Thanks for reading/reviewing.**

**South Park and characters belong to Matt and Trey. Fictional characters (my OC and peripherals) and places are mine, and any resemblance to anyone or anyplace is a freak accident…really. **

Prologue

One thing I know: everyone has secrets.

I can't believe I was so naïve just one year ago, to think that anyone on the planet could make it through life without a cache of absolute deceptions and clandestine facts. I was eighteen years old and had no family, no friends, no home. All I had was a bank account boasting a somewhat ill-gotten eight-figure balance, and the knowledge of everything my brother had ever taught me during the first seventeen years of my life.

Even though I was headhunted by Cornell, Duke, and three other universities, I enrolled at the new University of Colorado-Park County. It promised a small town, and small towns, I thought, didn't have secrets. I figured my secret would stay safely hidden among all the simple non-secrets of the town of South Park. I figured I would find a place that would allow me to truly leave the past behind me, truly become a person of my own invention.

What I found was something else entirely.


	2. Advent

_Advent_

With a sigh, I put my old Saab into neutral and pull up the hand brake. Looming ahead and to my right is Blair Hall, the co-ed dorm at CUPC. Cars line the street, hazard lights flashing. Students and parents mill around, hefting boxes and television sets from their vehicles and heading up the stone stairs. As I watch the giant doors swallow them, I gather my courage and reach for an energy drink from the cooler behind the passenger seat. The drive from Oregon exhausted me, and the day is only beginning.

Bag on shoulder, I lock the car and head up the steep stairs. Three masses of people, which I suppose pass as lines, stretch ahead of me, ending in long tables stacked with papers. There are signs above each table; the one on the far left reads "A-H," the one in the center, "I-P," and the one on the right says "Q-Z." I join the center line and pull out my phone; it's probably considered rude but it's the only thing I can think to do in a room full of strangers.

"Hey, dude, it looks like I'm in the 'I pee' line!" I turn to see a raven-haired boy shouting across to a redhead in the line to our left. I try not to snicker at their juvenile joke, but fail and end up instead making eye contact with the boy. His blue eyes momentarily appraise me before he speaks.

"Hi, I'm Stan…and that's Kyle," he says, gesturing toward the redhead. Kyle waves and smiles; despite the distance I notice his bright green eyes. I wave back and smile, and turn again to Stan.

"Renata," I say, tongue almost tripping over the name, "but everybody calls me Ren." We shuffle up a few inches as the line creeps inward. I briefly consider going back to playing Cover Orange but keep talking instead. Stan must have had the same idea.

"Where are you from?" we ask each other at the same time. After letting out a small laugh, I tilt my head downwards and gesture with my hand; I've learned to listen first and talk later.

"I'm from right here in Park County—South Park. So is Kyle…and just about everyone else we know. Except you, now. I mean, we would know you if you were a local. So, where are you from, and why did you come…here?"

The words I rehearsed during the drive down here come out naturally. "Well, I'm most recently from Portland, Oregon, but I was born in Scotland and I lived in Alaska from the time I was 10 until I was 14." Whoa, I prepared way, too much information Shut up, Ren. "And the reason I chose to come here is…not an interesting story." I pause. "Will you let me get away with just saying that I needed a change of scenery?"

"Hey, we love it here—it's the best place on the planet! You chose the right change of scenery; the people here are great and there's a lot of fun stuff to do." He reminds me of a child on his birthday. I can't help but smile wider. A pensive look passes over his face so quickly I think I have imagined it. He continues, almost imperceptibly quieter, just a bit less enthusiastic than moments ago. "Really, we were so glad that they opened a college here so that we could all still be together instead of scattered across the country."

I did just a little bit of homework before choosing UCPC. The school had been open for four years, and because of the introduction of a local college, high school graduation was steadily increasing in surrounding towns. The county opened the university for two reasons: to provide the local kids with an alternative to moving away for college, and to bring students (and therefore money) into the county.

I decide that I like Stan's voice, I like hearing him talk. I press for more. "Why are you guys living in the dorms, if you're local? I mean…" his laugh cuts me off.

"Trust me, it was just time for all of us to move out on our own."

"All of us?" I wonder, but never get a chance to ask. I look up and see that the table is right in front of me, and the balding man sitting behind it is impatiently droning, "Next."

"Hi, I'm Renata Kinloch. I need my room keys?"

"Got it. Okay, Renee, room 378. Your roommate's already checked in." I roll my eyes at his slaughter of my name and step aside, heading outside toward the daunting task of unloading my car.

"Hey," I hear Stan call out as I'm approaching the door. I look up and see him standing next to Kyle, who shouts, "We'll see you later?" I nod yes and wave behind me as I head out the big doors. I can't contain my smile so I look at the ground, letting my long hair fall around my face.

-XXX-

The bulky key turns easily in the lock for room 378, and I kick the door open with my left foot. I see no sign of my actual roommate, but the bed on the left is covered in luggage and boxes and a glittery pink train case with "Lexus" spelled out on the lid in Swarovski crystals. I throw my stuff on the bed to the right and walk over to the tiny mirror that sits above a little microwave on a cart. The reflection is still unfamiliar. Will I ever get used to it? I decide to accept what I see and try to notice things that I like, rather than try to see something that is no longer there. My dark blue- green eyes really stand out next to my new flame-red hair, which falls around my shoulders and loosely curls down my back. It's still kind of a shock to see that I'm not blonde anymore, that my nose is shorter and my jaw wider…but that was the whole point.

I decide to change out of my now-disgusting "road trip" clothes. I open one of my backpacks and pull out a denim skirt and a t-shirt that says "Hell's Belles" on it. Remembering that I left the door slightly ajar, I turn back to close it and almost jump out of my skin. A boy with baby-blonde hair and periwinkle eyes is standing in my doorway.

"H-hey," he stutters, looking down as he nervously wrings his hands. "I-I don't mean to bother you, but your door was open, and I can't find the RA's room!" He sounds desperate and, well, lost, and the whole scene kind of breaks my heart.

"Um, well the directory they gave me says the RA is in room 310, so I guess it's all the way down at the other end of the hall," I say as I walk over to him. For some reason, he is wearing a "Hello, my name is…" sticker on his blue polo shirt. "Butters?" Oops, that came out almost sarcastically.

"Th-that's me!" I'm a bit taken aback at his simple joy, but I respond. "I'm Renata, but…" Before I can get the rest of the sentence out, he interrupts me. "Hi, Renata, nice to meet you! You sure are pretty! Thanks, now!" Wow, he got my name right. I think my mouth is still hanging open in surprise as he skips down the hallway, singing "I'm going to see the RA, I'm going to see the RA…" Strange, but cute. I decide that this is the perfect "small-town" occurrence, and hope that I have made a friend.

Still smiling about the adorable Butters, I remember that I am supposed to join the rest of the residents in the Grand Lounge at 3:00 for orientation, so I finish changing, brush my hair, and bolt out the door…late as usual. I run smack-dab into Kyle, who is standing outside the door next to mine, playing with his phone.

"Sorry, I just….wait, are we neighbors?" I ask.

"Stan and I are in 376. Cool! Hey, Stan, the new girl is our neighbor," he shouts toward the door, which is halfway open. Through it, I can see that one bed is a mess of clothing and Wii games. Stan is rooting through the stuff, softly cursing.

"Sorry, Ren, Stan can't find his phone so I'm trying to call it repeatedly. I think the battery died, though."

"Oh, I'll help look…if it's okay?" I take a closer look at Kyle's green eyes, bright emeralds compared to mine. His red hair is lighter, more natural than mine, but like me, he has no freckles. He is tall, and not just because I am only a tiny 5'2". I peg him at 6'2", give or take half an inch. I let myself move slightly closer, and Kyle flicks his eyes toward me, conveying a strangely unreadable emotion. I jump with a start when Stan sticks his head out the door.

"Found it, it was in my running shoe."

"Let's go then, dude, come on."

"Wanna race?" I challenge them, and without waiting, begin to run to the staircase at the end of the hallway. I hear their footsteps seconds behind me, but when I reach the stairs and vault over the handrail down to the second floor, landing in a I know I have them beat.

"What the hell…? That kicks ass! You have to teach me how to do that!"

"Someday, maybe," I tease. "Come on, guys, we can't miss 'Get to Know You Games,' now can we?"

-XXX-

Down in the Grand Lounge, we are instructed to take a "Hello, My Name Is…" sticker and place it on our shirts. So that's where the Butters kid got a name tag. I write "Renata (Ren)" on my sticker, place it on the left hem of my t-shirt, and sit down next to Kyle and Stan.

"Everybody listen up, m'kay? See the row you are sitting in, I want you to form a circle with your row right now because that will be your first group for our Get to Know You Games, m'kay?"

Stan does a facepalm and moans, "Why the hell did Mackey have to leave South Park Elementary and come to work here? It's like he is t_rying _to torture us!" Our row starts to stand awkwardly, nobody wanting to be the first person to actually move their chair. We finally form something like an ellipse and sit down again.

I look around my circle and see that besides Stan and Kyle, there is a dark-haired girl with a purple beret, a chunky boy with dishwater brown hair and blue eyes, a curvy girl with a huge mass of curly blonde hair, a nondescript boy with dark brown hair and a name tag that says "Clyde," and an African-American boy who is wearing head-to-toe Armani Exchange.

"This is crap. You guys, I am so pissed off right now. I mean, where are the Cheesy Poofs?" the chunky guy, whose name tag reads Eric Cartman, whines.

"Shut up, Cartman. You can go for five minutes without food!" This from Kyle.

"I came for the Cheesy Poofs, god damn it. Fucking Jew."

"Cartman, you don't even live here! You live at home with your mommy! Go eat her fucking Cheesy Poofs, fat bastard!" Kyle's very real anger at the larger boy is too much for me; I fail at holding in my laughter.

"What the hell are you laughing at, skinny bitch?" Wow, very original, fat boy. I laugh harder and reach for Kyle, who squeezes my shoulder and laughs with me. We are nearly falling off the chairs when we are interrupted by the sedated-sounding voice of Mr. Mackey.

"M'kay, we are passing around a list of get-to-know-you questions. You get to choose one question and one person in your circle, and ask them that question. You cannot use questions twice within the circle, and nobody can be put on the spot more than twice in a row. If you just…"

He keeps talking, but we aren't listening. Kyle and I are still trying to contain aftershocks of giggles, Stan is talking to Wendy about an Amnesty International meeting, and Cartman is trying to convince Clyde to go get him Snacky Cakes from the vending machine. I look at the purple sheet of paper that is shoved in my direction.

"Oh my God, Kyle…does this really say 'What is your favorite color?'" For some reason we find this hilarious, and dissolve into laughter again. As we get louder, Stan and Wendy turn and give us looks of warning.

"FUUUUCK!" Mr. Mackey shouts. He is now standing on a tabletop in the center of the room. Everyone goes silent.

"M'kay, kids, remember that we are hosting a dance party tonight in the gymnasium. We have a real DJ, m'kay, and it's a great way to meet the people you will be living with for the next year, m'kay?"

"Okay, that was weird," Stan whispers. Students start to get up and move, escaping the forced camaraderie.

"Are you guys going to this dance party?" I ask nobody in particular, putting "dance party" in air quotes. Everyone answers in the affirmative, except Cartman, who still seems preoccupied with the free snacks that were promised us.

"God damn it! There'd better be food at this stupid dance!" He looks from me, to Stan, and finally to Kyle, before announcing to no one in particular, "Screw you guys, I'm going home."


	3. Pressure

**A/N: Okay, still a slow start IMO but some action starts to happen here. **

**Yes, this is going to be part fluffy love story involving my OC (partly because I just can't change any of the SP girls enough to "fit" what happens in this story, because I already know the very end) so if you don't like that, there's a nice little button at the upper left of your screen called a "back button." Use it. This is NOT, however, "my OC meets Kenny and they fall in love and live happily ever after blah blah blah." There will be enough fluff to keep those of you who like it happy, but it won't be all fluff. I will warn you when the stuff will start to get twisted, so you can turn away at that point…but it will get twisted. **

**I'm no stranger to writing fiction, but writing fanfiction with an OC is a new experiment. I'm challenging myself to keep her as much a "normal" person as possible…but this **_**is **_**South Park, so **_**too **_**normal is out. It's a fun challenge; we'll see how it goes. **

**This is headed in a completely different direction than I had in mind when I started. I have pretty much this whole thing written already, and I'm actually pretty happy with it…I just have to edit the thing, which for me takes more time than writing. Please say hi if you actually read this…it would make my day.**

**Also, thanks to scarlettshazam – it's because of you that I worked to update so quickly. **

**Apologies for the long-ass A/N**

**Disclaimer: South Park isn't mine. OC and fictional places and this story **_**are **_**mine. Songs and song quotes are not mine and belong to their respective owners.**

**Also, if anyone can tell me where the story title came from (Absence Suits You Best) I'll love you forever. And give you a surprise…maybe a one-shot with your OC paired with any canon character you choose, at some point in the future... **

The sun slides slowly behind the mountains, leaving an orange glow on the snow-capped tops. I pull my hands back into my sleeves, hooking my thumbs into the holes I created in my cuffs. It's cold here, too cold for late August. Adjusting my earbuds, I maximize the volume on my iPhone and look around.

The campus is gorgeous, incorporating entire wooded areas with the stately brick buildings, sculptures, and fountains characteristic of universities. The developers decided not to cut down an entire forest for the sake of easy navigation, and the result is a unique blend of beauty, grace, and mystery. Turning in a slow circle, I take in my surroundings while Kevin Griffin sings about singing at the stars. For a moment, I'm lost in reverie. _I'm lucky to be here. I'm _happy _to be here. _A glance at the clock tower that marks the exact center of the campus brings me back to the task at hand. I need a caffeine fix before I go to the dance.

It takes me a minute to calibrate my sense of direction; I'm still in a bit of a dreamy state. I look left, then right, and realize I should be heading in the opposite direction. Finally moving toward the convenience store, I replay the last two hours in my mind.

_Stan is frantically rifling through a mountain of stuff on his bed, tossing things on to his desk, his chair, under his bed. I'm lounging on a beanbag chair on Kyle's side of the room while Kyle watches the scene with an amused half-smirk on his face. He turns to me._

"_You're not gonna wear that to the dance, are you, Ren?" I look up from the graphic novel I've been half-reading. I look down at my yoga pants and flip-flops and realize that I look like I plan to stay glued to this beanbag all night. I haven't even started getting ready, and Stan and Kyle are nearly ready to go._

"_Noooooo," I drawl. "I'm just going to be fashionably late. You guys can go ahead without me and I'll meet you there." Our exchange is punctuated by Stan's voice, now coming from inside the closet._

"_What am I gonna do?" he moans. He sticks his head out the closet door. "This is weak, dude. My hat is just gone."_

"_Wash your hair, dude, like normal people do. Covering it with your hat doesn't make it any less gross." Kyle says this through a frown that is supposed to convey annoyance. Stan gives Kyle the finger and returns to his bed to root through the pile there. Kyle rearranges his features into a shit-eating grin, and our hands meet in a silent high-five._

"_I just had it! I only took it off to change my shirt, and now it's like, gone. Remember Tweek and his goddamn underpants gnomes? Maybe those little fuckers moved on to hats."_

_I offer my two cents. "Stan, you know, I hope it's not on your bed. it's bad luck to ever put a hat on a bed." Kyle shoots me a look; I return it with a shrug. My brother used to always freak out if I accidentally threw a hat on my bed. _

"_That's just a superstition, Ren." Kyle rolls his eyes in my direction. "On second thought, you're right." He turns to Stan. "It's bad luck to pile any articles of clothing on your bed. Bad luck, meaning 'makes you look like a slob.' " He turns back to me. "Stan has a bit of a hoarding problem."_

"_Fuck off, Kyle." Stan abandons his search to cross the room and playfully pin Kyle to the wall he is leaning against, making a show of drawing his fist back but letting us know he's joking through the huge smile on his face. Kyle blushes almost imperceptibly and flicks his eyes toward me; I hastily look back down to the copy of "Bunny Drop" in my lap. "Hey, why is my hat in your backpack?" Stan's voice is almost a shout, breaking the awkward moment. I look back up. Kyle's face is slowly reddening with the attempt to control his impending laughter. He makes the mistake of glancing at me, and we break into a full giggle. Stan narrows his eyes at me, then turns his head to Kyle. "Fine. I'll be in the shower if you need me." _

_The redhead and I lose it after Stan slams the door. I set the book aside and laugh into my hands. When I finally catch my breath, I look up and see Kyle trying to do the same, and we both break down again. _

"_That idea was epic, Ren," Kyle manages to get out through the laughter. "You should have seen his face before you got here."_

"_I had no idea he'd get so upset! I almost feel bad." Kyle reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder. The prank of hiding Stan's hat has somehow sealed our friendship. _

"_I think you'll fit right in here." The words thrill me much more than they should._

A far-off movement in my peripheral vision interrupts the memory. I stop, hitting the pause button to silence _Alison Foley, _surveying the darkening trees that surround me. Maybe this shortcut wasn't the best idea. Then again, maybe I imagined it; the movement is gone now. Still, I close my eyes to listen, remembering what my brother told me: if you train yourself to dull your other senses, you can hear anything, even drown out background noise. My thoughts of Malcolm are shattered by the distant snap of a twig and a ragged exclamation.

I relax, rather than strain, to hear more. "Ahh! N-nhg. The sun sets in the west, so if the main road is east…" The voice is high-pitched, taut, and gravelly; the odd combination somehow tugs at my heart. "Oh, Jesus!" Whoever it is sounds lost and terrified.

Before I can think twice, I move toward the voice. The thought of its owner in distress is suddenly the saddest thing in the world to me, and honestly, I thought I'd be to Main Street by now, so I'm a little lost too.

I come to a small clearing, really just a circle of trees with a bare spot in the center. Sitting pressed against the trunk of a huge Ponderosa is a slight boy with spiky, unkempt, yellow-blonde hair. His wrinkled shirt is buttoned unevenly, and his big brown eyes are filled with tears that threaten to spill if he blinks.

"Hey," I start softly. "Are you okay?" I move closer, forcing myself to step slowly so that I don't scare the boy.

He shrinks away from me, sputtering. "Ahh! Did they-ngh-send you? They know where I am! Gaah!" His words fail and fall into gibberish; his eyes twitch as one shoulder spasms.

I shake my head in disbelief. "I'm a student here, and I heard you…I'm actually a little lost too, so I was hoping you and I could find our way out of here so I can get to the silly dance thing, and you can…" I trail off as I realize that my speech isn't making the boy any less anxious. I try to make my voice smooth and comforting, but if his reaction is any indication, I'm failing miserably. I sit down where I am, ignoring the pine needles poking my butt through my skirt. I watch cautiously as the boy reaches into a backpack by his side and opens it; my heart slows a bit when I see that the heavy silver thing he pulls out is just a thermos. I watch curiously as he takes a sip and follows it with a deep breath.

"My name's Tweek. I w-was trying to find my phone. It wasn't in my pocket so I must have dropped it and –oh, God!- it started to get dark. I -ngh- I'm pretty scared of the dark." He leans his head on the bark and squeezes his eyes closed. "I feel so _stupid! _How can I get lost in my own town? College is just too much pressure!"

I decide the boy is adorable, tics and all. "Okay, Tweek. My name is Ren, and I'll help you find your phone. Then we will get out of here. What's your phone number?"

I dial the digits and wait for the sound of a ringer. I laugh when I hear it; it's an old Morrissey song. Tweek looks hurt for a moment, but smiles when he realizes I'm laughing with mirth, not in ridicule. I tell him I'm a big Smiths fan, too. The missing phone, of course, is in the front pocket of his backpack, under a stack of coffeehouse napkins.

"W-what an idiot! Ngh!"

"Come on, Tweek. I 'lose' my keys all the time and find them minutes later-_in my hand. _ Admit it, it's pretty funny." I watch as his furrowed brow relaxes a bit and the beginning of a smile teases his lips. "Oh my gosh! I can't believe I didn't think of this!" He jumps a bit at my exclamation; I have to remember not to do that again. "My phone has a GPS—the satellite can show us where we are on a map and then we'll be un-lost!"

Upon seeing that we are about 100 yards from Main Street, we both laugh.

-XXX-

"Do you live on campus, then?" I ask. Tweek and I are leaving the convenience store, me with a huge Red Bull and him with a fresh coffee.

"Y-yes. I do. Living with my parents was just…too much pressure!" I reach up to squeeze his shoulder and let him continue. "I'm, ah, I'm like this because I have ADHD… and I've been a caffeine addict since I can remember. My family owns a coffeehouse. They think coffee is the answer to e_verything. _Ngh-why am I telling you this? N-nobody –agh- cares."I notice that he seems twitchier when he seems unsure of himself. He buries a hand in his blonde hair and pulls. I gently grasp his wrist and lower his hand, taking it in both of mine.

"I care." He manages a half-smile in my direction. I turn an idea over and over in my mind. "Listen….I promised my friends I would meet them at the dance thing. Would you like to go?"

"Gah, I'm a-actually meeting my best friend there. Oh God, I'm so late!" Tweek tries to free his hand from my grip so he can tug on his hair again, but I hold fast.

"Well, let's go."

-XXX-

Something that barely passes as dance music spills out the doors of the athletic building as students pour out to smoke cigarettes or just enjoy the night air. I adjust my sweater to make sure the v-neck is still covering my bra and quicken my pace. I think I'm actually excited about this dance, as cheesy as it sounds. I look up at Tweek, shake off the last bit of apprehension and follow him through the gymnasium doors.

I widen my eyes in shock as I scan the booming room. There must be 300 students packed in the space, more than I even dared to expect. The DJ is spinning true house music, not the top-40 crap you get from most for-hire DJs. The sensation of someone staring makes me turn my head, and I spot a tall boy in a blue hat directing a death stare in my direction. He expressionlessly flips me the bird; I cock my head and bring my hand to my chest, in a "me?" gesture. Tweek leans down and gives me a quick half-hug.

"Th-that's –agh- Craig! I gotta go!" He starts to walk away quickly, but turns around and jerkily strides back to me. "I forgot-agh! Thank you!" He manages a genuine smile before turning back toward his friend, who is still staring. Tweek doesn't even seem to notice the other boy's strange reaction to me. I decide to shrug it off, but it's still…odd.

I don't have any better ideas, so I start to walk around the perimeter of the gym. About halfway through my excursion, I spot a familiar mass of red curls and pull out my phone. "Look behind you," I text. Seconds later, Kyle turns and smiles, waving me over.

"Ren! You are late. Whad'ja do, get losht? Are you okaaay?" Stan is slurring his words ever so slightly, indicating the existence of a spiked punch bowl somewhere in the vicinity.

"I'm fine. I actually did get a little lost, if you must know. But that is a story I'll save for another time. It sounds like I need to catch up." Stan looks unsurprised at my excuse as he takes my hand and leads me toward a table at one end of the room. Kyle, in sock feet, approaches me at a running slide, bobbing his head to the music. In his hands is a red plastic cup full of pink liquid.

"Here you go, Ren. It's called Well Water. It has…all sorts of cool shit in it." I take a sip and make a face. "Drink it, Ren. After a few sips you won't taste it anyway." Kyle's green eyes glint with mischief. I give him a quick hug and gulp down more of the drink, which tastes like it is 80% liquor. I slowly turn to give the room a once-over, and see Butters, Cartman, and Wendy standing nearby. Butters is watching as the other two argue heatedly. The music is too loud for me to hear them, but it looks like Wendy leans in a little further with each accusation, her elegant finger threatening to poke the thick boy's chest. My observation is interrupted by a busty girl with frosted hair; she bumps into me, and I just barely save my drink from spilling down her cleavage.

"Oooooh, sweetie, I am so sorry. I think I had one too many of those already!" I start to tell her it's okay, but she keeps talking. "My name is Lexus, what's yours?" She looks me up and down and squeals, still not giving me a chance to speak. "You're hot, do you want a job? I work at Raisins, and I make sooooo many tips!"

Something clicks in my brain. "Wait, Lexus that lives in room 378?" Her eyes widen. "I'm Ren…I think we're roommates."

"Oh my gosh, I'm soooooo glad you came, I was soooooo bored! It's good to finally meet you! Listen, I usually stay with my bouncer, I mean my boyfriend, so I won't be home a lot, I hope that's okay!"

I open my mouth to answer, but she has already grabbed the arm of a passing boy. I hear her flirting as they walk away. "I'm sooooo glad to see you, I need another drink soooo bad…" Her voice fades away, leaving me more than a little perplexed.

"Renata, hi!" I turn to the slightly-accented voice. "I-I'm Butters! You do remember me, don'tcha?"

"Of course I remember you! How could I forget?" His cheerfulness is contagious. Butters' cheeks flush as he looks to the ground and fidgets, bumping his fists together and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looks up at me again with excitement in his eyes; he reminds me of a kid on his birthday.

"Well, Renata…y-you wouldn't wanna maybe dance with me, wouldja?"

_Aww. _"Yeah, let's dance, Butters. And please…call me Ren, okay?"

"Okay, Ren!" I take the blonde by the hand and lead him closer to the giant speakers at the back of the gym. He is only about an inch taller than I am in my 5" platforms, and small but well-built. His striped polo shirt is fitted, his dark jeans loose. The DJ makes a smooth transition to a faster beat, and Butters starts to move. I stand still for a moment, in awe. The boy can dance. He is oblivious to the stares of a few girls and guys standing over by the wall. Sweet and innocent on the outside, sex machine on the dance floor. Who knew?

"Butters! God damn it!" I hear Cartman's grating whine over the beat. "Where did you put it, you little homo?" Cartman approaches us in a stalking manner, using his weight to shove people aside.

"P-put what?" The blonde stops dancing and looks up at the larger boy.

"I asked you nicely to hold my backpack," Cartman continues venomously, "but I see you are out here being a fairy and not watching _my stuff_!"

"W-well Eric, if ah, I knew w-what you meant, I'd sure help you out, but I just really don't know what you mean."

"Butters. Black bag, two straps that go on your shoulders? Zipper entry? Holds my things?" Cartman speaks impatiently with frustration; his tone one usually reserved for utter condescension. " My _important _things, which you seem to give not a shit about?"

"Hold on now, leave him the hell alone!" I interject, stepping between them. I didn't come here to see a fight, much less an unfair one. I'm barely finished speaking when Butters, now behind me, puts his mouth close to my ear and shouts over the music, "Aw, it's okay, Ren, th-that's just how Eric is."

I narrow my eyes at the husky boy. There's no excuse for treating someone like crap, especially someone as sweet as Butters. From the corner of my eye, I see Wendy approach Cartman, a black backpack on her shoulder. She offers it to him as if it is a dead animal, dangling it from her extended fingers.

"Here, asshole, you gave _Pip _your backpack. Apologize to Butters." She crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one foot, staring at Cartman with a look that is equal parts exasperation and patience.

"What? No!" His pudgy hand snatches the bag from Wendy's grip. "Why would I apologize to the little fudgepacker?" Wendy breathes a slow and expectant sigh, still giving Cartman a heavy look. For a full five seconds, he says nothing. "Give it up, Wendy, you can't save all the minorities and homos in the world." Wendy throws up her hands and shakes her head before she turns to me with a wicked smile. "Hippie ho," Cartman adds, a little less loudly. She offers him her middle finger over her shoulder without looking back, and to me, whispers "We stole that bottle of vodka out of your bag, too, bastard." She produces a bottle from under her sweater and presses it into my hands. I slip it into my bag, ridiculously overjoyed by the camaraderie. I turn to watch her retreat and reflect the smile she offers when she looks back to me. I like Wendy; it seems like she doesn't take shit from anyone. I start to turn back to my dance buddy, but instead nearly run into Cartman. He looks down his nose at me, glaring. He'd actually be attractive without the permanent sneer, but from what I've seen, that won't happen any time soon.

"What are you, Butters' hag now?" he asks mockingly. I glare right back.

"Something like that," I say, and trade my glare for a fake, syrupy-sweet smile, just to annoy him. When I turn to walk away, I hear him mutter something under his breath, but don't care enough to go back and ask him to repeat himself.

Over behind a table stacked with energy drinks, Kyle and Stan are seated with their backs to the wall, so close that their shoulders are touching. I approach the table, catching Stan's eye. He nudges Kyle, and they both watch as I make an exaggerated show of slipping the bottle from my bag and pouring a generous amount into each of three cups. After topping each one off with Red Bull, I head over to the guys, presenting my offering like a sacred gift. I join them on the floor, facing them both so we are sitting in a sort of triangle, and sip my drink.

"Ren, settle an argument for us," Kyle pleads. I look at him expectantly. "Stan wants to…wants to…he wants to…" his speech is broken by laughter. "He wants to…_TP_…Officer Barbrady's house!" Through my tipsiness I realize that Kyle is pretty toasted; from what little I know of him, he would be trying to talk Stan out of this prank, not encouraging him with laughter.

"Come on, dude, the guy's an old douche an' all he does anymore is set up speed traps. My insurance went up thirty bucks a month because he wrote me a ticket." Through the rant, I can tell that Stan has sobered up quite a bit since we last spoke. Interesting, considering that Kyle is now definitely under the influence. "You know what I think, Kyle? I think Ren's just as much a prankster as I am, and I bet she'll help." He shoots me an anticipative look and I nod and giggle, wondering how he has me pegged already.

"Dude, you know I can't live with something like that! TPing is mean; you can't get that shit down for days, and if it rains, well, you're fucked. If we get caught…double fucked. " Apparently, drunken Kyle is still the voice of reason. He turns his whole body to face Stan. "Why don't you just-"

Stan interrupts Kyle by leaning in and kissing him directly on the mouth. Kyle's eyes widen, then close, before he pushes Stan away. He looks at his knees as a blush burns his cheeks. Seconds that feel like hours pass, and Kyle heaves himself from the floor, flinging away the hand that Stan reaches up toward him as he stalks off. Stan turns to me, shrugs, and gets up to follow Kyle.

I giggle to myself, amused by the spectacle I just witnessed. The vodka buzz has joined the caffeine jolt of the Red Bull, but somehow, I'm tired. I weigh my options, but none sound appealing. The night has been a blast and I don't want to press my luck. With that, I decide now is as good a time as ever to head home.

The dance floor is still crowded; I have to push my way through throngs of sweaty bodies to get to the door. I feel a draft and finally have the exit in sight when I hear Butters' endearingly accented voice shout over the music, "G'night, Ren!" I turn to find him in the crowd and instead run smack into someone wearing what looks like a ratty old red hoodie. His hood is up, covering his head, and all I can see are two wide blue eyes and a glimpse of golden blonde hair. He looks down at me and bounces on his toes a bit as he excitedly says…something. I raise my eyebrows and shake my head.

"I can't hear you," I say through an amused smile, momentarily forgetting my mission to get home. A rush of bravery overcomes me and I reach up and pull the boy's hood back from his head. His eyes widen into a pleasantly startled stare. They are an ashy blue, light at the center and darker around the rims. He makes no move to brush away the lock of hair that falls forward, obscuring part of his face. When he offers me a grin, I can barely catch my breath. He has a small gap between his front teeth, not in a messed-up-teeth sort of way, but in a sexy, boy-next-door sort of way. An excited jolt travels from my chest to other parts of my anatomy, and I start to feel a bit dizzy. "Care to repeat yourself?" I manage, albeit haltingly. He says nothing, choosing instead to cock his head and look me up and down. There is only one way to describe this: he is undressing me with his eyes.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, bringing me back to Earth. I look down to check the caller ID, frowning at the unfamiliar number. _Why didn't I just ignore it? _ A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I look up, meeting the blonde boy's blue eyes.

He looks pointedly at vibrating phone in my hand. "Um…see you later, I guess?" I can't decide if it is a question or a statement. I'm too distracted by his voice, a sound that is equal parts angelic and gritty, as if he has seen it all but let none of it sully his worldview. A sound that makes every hair on my body stand on end. Before I can answer with more than a dumb nod, he has replaced his hood and is moving across the room toward the beverages. I stand on my tiptoes, but only see the back of his head as he is engulfed by the crowd.

-XXX-

The temperature outside has plummeted since I entered the dense heat of the gym. I wrap my arms around myself in an attempt to stave off the breeze. It's okay; the chill provides a needed sense of sobriety. I decide I'm still not ready to go home; I want to just sit alone and go over the night in my head. I spot a sturdy-looking tree, the only non-evergreen in the courtyard, kick off my ridiculous heels, and begin to climb.

Branches high above the ground are some of my favorite places. Malcolm taught me everything I could ever want to know about climbing trees. Trees are a great place to hide, or just be alone; most of the time, nobody thinks to look _up. _

Everything up here is peaceful, and I let my mind go blank. The thick walls muffle the ongoing beat of the music; it creates a modern lullaby as I straddle a large branch, my back against the trunk. I hear the sound swell as the heavy door to the gym opens, and ebb as it falls closed.

I'm not sure why I look down, but I nearly fall out of the tree when I do. Leaving the gym is hoodie boy. He is alone, shuffling slowly with his hands in his pockets and his head down. I begin to climb down, watching his back as he recedes into the dark. When I reach a branch about 9 feet off the ground, I grab it with both hands and swing down, landing in a crouch. Pulling my skirt down and brushing the twigs from my leggings, I stand and greedily inhale.

"Hey!" I shout with all my lung power, willing him to turn and look at me as he continues to walk away. When he looks over his shoulder, I yell, "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

His answer is an angelic smile which sets my heart racing as he turns to face me completely and walks a few steps backwards, hand raised in a wave.

**A/N: Yes, I know I took liberties with some of the colors of the clothing here, but seriously, it's like 10 years later…these kids aren't still wearing their clothes from 4****th**** grade. **


	4. Charm Attack

**A/N: If you made it this far, great! The action is finally going to begin, I swear. **

**There is definitely a difference between my Kenny and the Kenny I read in most fictions. I love how Kenny is portrayed in most of the stories I read, but I wanted to write him a little differently. Don't worry; he is just as kinky as you would expect…this story just doesn't know it yet. **

**At times I feel ready to throw this thing out, but honestly I am too in love with it to give up. So my OC is boring? Ok, so what, she doesn't have special powers or come from planet X. I guess I could have used Wendy or Bebe or any female character, but it will make sense in the end why I didn't. **

**This chapter takes place a couple weeks later. Butters' birthday (canon) is September 11, and I stuck with that fact. **

**Warning: Boy-on-boy scene inside. Not a lemon. More mature themes than previous chapters. Just an FYI. **

**Finally: I don't own SP or characters, or any of the songs mentioned. They all belong to their respective owners. I own Ren and this story. **

I flop down on my bed, sweaty and exhausted from a 7-mile run. A glance at the clock on my desk tells me that I have two hours before I have to meet Butters. I pull my phone out of the pocket of my pullover and set the alarm to go off in 20 minutes. Sprawling on the bed just feels too good after physical exertion. I drift off, half-dreaming about ninja penguins, lost in that weird state between awake and asleep.

The sound of Stan and Kyle's door slamming jerks me from the strange train of thought. I sit up, momentarily unhinged. The boys' voices come through my wall with more clarity than I would have expected.

"God damn it, Stan! I told you I'm not fucking ready! My mother would probably throw me a fucking party or something and I just can't take that right now. I'm not scared that they'll disown me, I'm just not ready to-"

"Not ready to admit it to yourself, Kyle? That is some fucked-up shit right there. Three years, Kyle. What exactly do you want from me?"

I hear tears in Stan's voice; by this point I'm fully awake and curious. I can't help it, this nosiness. I like to think I'm just interested in people, but what it really comes down to is that I get a secret thrill from hearing snippets of others' private lives. I derive an aberrant sense of comfort from knowing that the people around me live with secrets and tribulations.

"I want…I want…you. But…this isn't some silly high school crush. It's…"

"It's what, Kyle?" Stan's voice drops several decibels; it is so soft, I can barely hear it. I leap from the bed with a mission in mind. As I pull my makeup box out from under the bed, the room next door goes silent. A zap of adrenaline courses through me, barely blunted by a rational voice somewhere inside me. _Leave it, _the voice says, but I ignore it as my racing heart drowns it out. I find two compacts and, using a metal nail file, pry the mirror out of each.

With the box back under the bed, and the mirrors laid out on the rug, I grab a near-empty carton of juice out of the mini-fridge and pour the dregs into a promotional mug sitting on Lexus's unused desk. After grabbing a second empty from the tiny blue recycling bin in the corner, I cross over to my desk and rummage through it for a pair of scissors and some tape. Settling on my knees in the center of the room, I begin to work. My hands work on autopilot as I let my mind wander.

_I reach for the milk carton on the coffee table. Malcolm will be pissed if I let milk spill everywhere. When I pick it up, it feels strange, like it is empty, but…not empty. I inspect the carton closely and find that it has holes cut in it, and a mirror-no, two mirrors- inside. He chooses that moment to walk in._

"_What is this, Mac?"_

"_That, my dear, is a periscope." He looks shaken, but he remains composed and keeps talking. "You can use it to see around the corner, see what's going on in rooms without being _in _them." _

"_But…why?" _

_My brother rushes over and lifts me in his arms; I don't protest because he already knows that even though I'm still small, I think 10 is too old to be carried around like a baby. He just forgets sometimes. "It's for playing detective. Let's go spy on Fiona. I'll show you how it works."_

_The old terrier is asleep on her bed, oblivious to my presence outside the door. She reaches her hind leg up to scratch near her neck, and jolts awake. I can't help but giggle when she starts to lick herself, even though she would do this even if she did know she had an audience. _

"_That's so cool, Mac. You know everything."_

I finish taping my crude project and move to the desk, scooting the chair aside. I pull three hardcover textbooks off the shelf, stacking them on the left side of the desk where it meets the wall. Using the chair as a stepstool, I climb up on the desk and stand on the stack of books. Perfect.

The first day I moved in, I noticed a hole in the wall above my desk; a perfect square about six inches to a side, nestled right in the corner. Not wanting to get a damage fine at the end of the year, I called the Resident Advisor to look at it and make note. _He _called Resident Life and finally returned with an explanation for the hole. The building was originally built for steam heat, requiring pipes to run through the entire building. The holes were cut so the pipe could run across several rooms. When energy auditors inspected the place, though, they estimated that the natural gas required to heat the entire dorm would cost over 50% more than electricity for central heating, so the idea was scrapped before the piping was even installed. Some builders must have gotten lazy and neglected to repair some of the walls.

Lucky me. I never even thought about the stupid hole in the wall again, until now. Angling the periscope so that it fit right through the hole, I brush aside the guilt that makes a valiant attempt to crush me with its weight. I close my eyes. _These are my close friends we're talking about. _ It only takes a moment for officiousness to win. I feel my eyes widen as I peep through the hole and study the reflection of the next room.

I'm not sure what I was expecting to see, but it wasn't…this. Stan, wearing only a pair of plaid boxers, is sitting astride a very naked Kyle's back, kneading the redhead's shoulders. Kyle is facedown, tangled curls spilling to the pillow and obscuring his face. Through Stan's rapt expression, I can't decide if he is trying to hurt Kyle or make him feel good.

The adrenaline that teased me earlier is back full-force; my heart pounds and my breath comes faster. _This is wrong. _I know this is wrong, but I can't tear my eyes away. Stan shifts his body and brings his lips to meet Kyle's flawless back. Kyle sighs and turns his head to the side, giving Stan the opportunity to rake a hand through the auburn waves covering his ear. I watch as the smaller boy gently kisses a line from ear to shoulder, and can't help but think that even though Kyle is slightly taller, the boys have nearly the same build. Their similarity in size paired with their striking difference in appearance makes them a beautiful couple. Kyle opens his green eyes and looks over his shoulder flirtatiously as he smiles at his lover. Stan moves to let him flip over on to his back, and the boys meet in a passionate kiss, each holding—

"Well, hi, Ren, I-I thought we were gonna meet at my room at eight." Butters' unexpected voice startles me, and I slip on the stack of books as I turn toward him and try to hide the bulky periscope behind my back. "Whatcha doin' up there? Oh, hamburgers, did you see a spider? I saw a huuuuuge black hairy spider in my room yesterday, he was kinda fuzzy and cute but scary and Cartman swatted him with a shoe before I could…hey, what's that?" I'm positive I'm about to throw up vital organs. Before I can speak, Butters is crossing the room to Lexus's desk and grabbing at a pink, sparkly teddy bear. "Aww, he's cute." I bend down to put the periscope between the desk and the wall and hop off the desk, thankful that my stomach is no longer threatening to expel my entire insides.

"I guess he's my roommate's. I never see her, but more pink and sparkly stuff appears in the room at random intervals. It's kind of odd. And there's no spider—just a lot of dust on top of the bookshelf. I can't stand dust." _I'm going to hell for lying to this innocent boy. Screw my voyeurism, deceiving Butters is an unforgivable sin. _"I lost track of time, Buddy, I'm sorry. Give me ten minutes and we'll go. Are you ready to have your first dinner as an 18-year-old?"

"Oh, boy, I sure am! I just love Bennigan's!" His speech is so full of exclamation points. If he is this excited about Bennigan's, I wonder how he will react to the Lady Gaga tickets I tucked inside his birthday card.

-XXX-

"_I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance!" _The windows of the Saab are down and the sunroof is open, filling the car with frigid air and serenading the night with our silly rendition of "Bad Romance." Being with Butters is just fun. I can act as silly as I want and know that he won't judge me; he is usually busy acting even sillier himself. He seems to be missing the gene that stops us all from doing what we really want for fear of embarrassment. I look over at the little blonde and smile. I really hope he is okay with what I have planned.

The song ends right as we pull into Bennigan's. I use the side entrance to the parking lot, counting on Butters' excitement to keep him occupied so that he doesn't notice the other familiar cars in the spaces. Pulling the car into a spot surrounded by other empties, I smile again at Butters.

"You ready?" I ask, pulling up the collar of the gearshift to put the Saab in reverse and setting the handbrake.

"Oh, boy, I'm so ready!"

Butters walks to my side of the car as I grab my bag and double check the front pocket, making sure the birthday card is there. We link arms and find the entrance; I can see our table already set up, the chairs occupied by our friends. Butters looks confused as the hostess lets us wander unaccompanied into the seating area, but doesn't complain; instead, he starts telling me a story about his last birthday celebrated at the restaurant. When we are about ten feet from the table, a loud chorus erupts.

"SURPRISE!"

Butters looks frightened, then surprised, then overjoyed. He claps his hands and jumps up and down twice, then throws his arms around me and kisses me on the cheek. He is speechless, which I think is probably a first for Butters.

Three tables are pushed together to form an "L" in the corner of the restaurant. In attendance are Wendy, Cartman, Bebe, a girl I haven't met named Rebecca, Tweek, the strange Craig, Stan, Kyle (how did they get here so fast?), the stylish African American boy (who is called, of all things, Token) and a guy I remember as Clyde. We take our seats and peruse menus as everyone takes turns passing Butters birthday cards and leaning across the table to ruffle his hair or pat him on the back.

"My god, every single thing on this menu has meat," I say to no one in particular.

"Oh, shit, Ren." My eyebrows shoot up; it's unlike Butters to curse, no matter how mildly. "Son of a biscuit! I totally forgot you were a, whatchacallit, a vegetarian."

"It's okay, Butters. I'm really not that hungry. Besides, this is all about you." I find something called "Apple Pecan Salad" at the bottom of the menu and decide it will do. This night is for Butters, and I could care less if I eat right now anyway. I'm still a bit high on adrenaline and quite frankly sick to my stomach with guilt. I argue with myself for a moment, wondering if I should just confess, but decide to revisit the inner altercation later when it doesn't eat into Butters' birthday celebration.

A whiny voice pipes up from the other end of the table. "You know, this day should actually be called 'Kill a Terrorist Day' because-"

"Eric!" Wendy spits. "Not tonight. This. Is. Butters'. Birthday. You keep your racist comments to yourself."

"I'm just saying, I think Butters would be honored to have such a special day for a birthday." He turns to shout down the table, wanting to know if Butters has the same twisted definition of "special day". "Hey, Butters!" The blonde is too busy choosing an entrée to hear him, so he starts to shout again. "HEEEEY, BU…Oh, look what the stray cat dragged in. What, didja hear that someone else was payin', Kenny?"

"Fuck you, Cheesy Poofs for brains." I can't quite place the familiar voice, so I turn to see who has just arrived. The breath I am inhaling never makes it past halfway. Standing ten feet to my right is the red hoodie boy from the dance, hands in pockets, blonde hair falling in his eyes.

"Hey, McCormick, where the hell have you been?" This from Kyle.

"Yeah, what have you been doing? I haven't seen you in like three weeks, man," adds Stan.

Bebe speaks next, almost under her breath. "More like _who _have you been doing?"

"Agh! Hi, ngh-Kenny!" Tweek twitches as he waves. Craig looks at the newest guest from under his pulled-low hat and flips him the bird.

Kenny doesn't get a chance to answer; Stan excitedly gets up from his chair and gestures needlessly toward me. "Holy shit dude, it's been like a month since school started and you still haven't met Ren!"

"Yeah, don't you want to meet the person who is paying for your dinner, trailer boy?" I catch Wendy's eye and we share a disgusted glance over this classic Cartman asininity.

"Ren, this is Kenny." Stan is now on our side of the table, smiling crazily. I briefly wonder if he has had a few drinks. "Kenny…Ren."

Kenny takes my hand in both of his and squeezes it. It feels like he is squeezing my insides.

"Oh…we've met." Kenny is responding to Stan, but looking at me. Before he releases my hand, I get the gap-toothed smile. Unfair. At this rate, I'm going to suffer adrenal burnout and need three days of sleep to recover.

"Sit down, we just ordered," I manage to say. The words sound unnatural, the awkwardness compounded by the fact that I feel absurd about my attraction to this boy who is essentially a stranger. The only free chair is the one directly to my right. I reach under the table and squeeze Butters' hand; I'm sure he doesn't completely understand, but he squeezes right back as Kenny scoots the chair even closer to mine and sits. He folds his legs under him and sits on his knees, like a little kid, and leans so close to me that I can feel the warmth he exudes even though we aren't touching. I give him a sidelong glance and he smiles again. I squeeze Butters' hand once more; this time too hard.

"Ouch! Ren, whadja do that for?" I give Butters a pleading look, but Wendy, Bebe, Kyle, and Stan are all looking in our direction with amused smirks. I feel a flush start at my chest and creep up to my cheeks. Kenny reaches across me to place a card in front of Butters, and when his arm brushes mine, I lean back quickly. Kenny looks wounded.

I'm generally protective of my personal space, but it doesn't take long for most people to become part of my "safe zone." For instance, the manner in which Cartman is a "close talker" bothers me, because he does it not out of social ineptitude or clueless friendliness, but as a form of condescension. However, I know he is just insecure and fairly harmless, so when he puts his arm around me or gets in my face, I don't freak out. Guys like Butters, Stan, Kyle, Tweek…I know them and trust them, so I'm fine with them. Wendy and Bebe could come sit in my lap and I would be fine, even though it seems that girls tend to invade other girls' personal space much less often than boys do.

At that moment, however, Kenny is pure sex. I didn't shrink from his touch because I felt he had violated my personal space. I did it because I so badly _wanted _him in my personal space, wanted to grab onto him and anchor him there for…ever.

_Ugh, did I really just think that? _I interrupt my own cheesy rom-com moment by grabbing my bag from under my chair and sliding out, using the escape route between my chair and Butters' to avoid any other physical contact with Kenny. "I'll be right back, guys," I say to no one in particular, and speed walk in the direction of the ladies' room.

A leaky faucet drips a tattoo on porcelain and the scent of generic soap so strong I can taste it takes a chokehold on my senses. The fluorescent light hums intermittently as it flickers. I put my hands on the ledge of the sink and lean forward, closing my eyes, careful not to let my forehead actually touch the mirror. I stay like that until I hear the door open, then busy myself with rummaging for my cosmetic case. When I look in the mirror to reapply my eyeliner, I see Wendy's reflection behind mine. I turn to face her and lean against the counter, cringing as the waistband of my skirt sponges up cold leftover puddles from sloppy hand-washers.

Wendy tries a half-smile. "I had to escape. Eric's out there making up a song about Butters…and it's a typical Eric song, if you know what I mean." A hint of a blush covers her cheeks, but I can't tell if it is a true blush, or an angry flush waiting to happen. She walks over to the counter, checks to make sure it is dry, and lifts herself up and backwards so she is sitting on it next to me, facing the stalls. With a sigh, she continues, chin in hand. "You know, I dated Stan for a long time when we were younger. And I dated Token. And for a short time, Craig, but that is a story for another day. But you know what?" I turn to look at her. "It has always been Eric. You would think that we hate each other, that we are polar opposites, and those things might be true. But…I also love him. It's astounding how much I love that bastard. I really wish I could make sense of it."

Wendy and I are friends, but we have never shared this kind of "girl talk." I once assumed that that only stemmed from the fact that Wendy didn't "girl talk" with _anybody_, but I must have misjudged her. I have to hide my surprise, not that she is in love with Eric, but that she is confiding in me. Before I can give her a helpful response, she jumps down from the counter and changes the subject.

"When it comes to Kenny…don't listen to anyone but Kenny." I draw my eyebrows together to let her know she isn't quite making sense. "Kenny used to be…well…Kenny has changed a lot since his dad left and his mom cleaned up, but it's not my place to tell you his family's story." She looks at me, a challenge in her eyes. I try to return with an innocent gaze, but it doesn't work. She grins at me. "It's written all over your face."

I can't uphold the "who, me?" act any longer. I look down, pressing my palms to my eyes, and give in to the giggle. When I look up, Wendy is laughing, too, one arm wrapped across her stomach. I push away from the counter and crane my neck to survey the damage; the wet spots feel worse than they look so I press a paper towel to my butt and shrug. Still snickering, we exit the room, leaving the damp and washed-out room for the warmth of the restaurant. I run directly into Wendy's back as she stops short. Kenny is right outside the door, pacing, intently watching his feet. When he looks up, Wendy says, "Hey, Kenny," and makes a beeline for the table. I freeze, probably looking like a deer in headlights. Idiot Ren: 2, Composed and Normal Ren: 0.

The blonde faces me and shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes meet mine as he smiles and bounces on his toes twice, three times. I'm suddenly not sure what to do with my arms, so I pull my bag from my left shoulder and switch it to my right. That feels unnatural, but I keep it there and cross my arms.

"I wanted to say goodbye. And thanks for doing this for Butters. He's…" Kenny runs his hand through his hair as he looks back toward the table. "He's really happy." This is punctuated with a half-smile. Blue eyes dart to the floor, to a spot behind me, and back to my own. I take a breath to say something, anything, but Tweek appears from apparently nowhere.

"Come on, -ngh- Ren! Butters wants to open his card from you!" The hyper blonde grabs my arm and starts to tug me away. I look back over my shoulder urgently and meet Kenny's eyes one last time before giving in to Tweek's excitement and giggling as we run to our table.

Butters is not-so-patiently waiting, turquoise envelope in his hands. I take my seat and nod, delighted in his expression of concentration as he lifts the flap. His tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he frees the card and reads the front. When he opens it, the tickets fall and it takes him a moment to realize what they are. Butters' eyes get even brighter, if that is possible, and he flings himself practically into my lap.

"Lady Gaga! My favorite! Oh, wow, Ren, I'm so excited. This is the best birthday ever!" I hug back and smile, all but forgetting my unsettling encounter with Kenny. The cake is demolished and everyone is getting antsy.

"Let's go to Foxy's," Token suggests. Stan lets out a whoop and Craig rolls his eyes, not even bothered to flip someone the bird. Tweek, recently calmed, begins to shiver again, his big eyes unable to focus on one spot. Wendy leans over to whisper something to Bebe, and Butters tosses out an innocent question.

"What's Foxy's?" Butters' voice is cheerful as ever; I'm sure he is thinking of ice cream or bowling. With a name like Foxy's, though, this place has to be a strip club.

"Oh, you'll see. Can you follow us?" Even _Kyle_ is on the bandwagon with this one. I settle the bill and turn to the nearest body, which happens to be Cartman. He has been strangely quiet since Wendy scolded him for the Butters song I never got to hear.

"Foxy's?" I ask, the one word dripping with a cross between sarcasm and disbelief.

"Well, we guys think it'll be funny, I mean fun, to buy Butters a lap dance. From a _girl._" The thick boy leans in, claiming my personal space as I have grown to expect. "What's wrong, are you afraid to go in a titty club? Afraid your lesbo tendencies will rear their dykey little heads?"

I snort at him and pat him on the shoulder, feigning cavalier sympathy. "Oh, Cartman, leave your fantasy out of this. This night is for _Butters." _With that, I turn on my heel and exit, leaving him and his provocative insults behind me.

-XXX-

A pop-rap song from last year plays over tinny speakers as a bottle-blonde with unnaturally large breasts pumps her hips for the birthday boy. Butters looks like he can't decide if he wants to smile, cry, throw up, or run away. I wouldn't be surprised if he did all four in that exact order. Cartman is leaning against the wall with crossed arms and a smug smirk. Token, Clyde, Kyle, and Stan are sitting with me, watching pole dancers work their magic. Wendy, Bebe, Tweek, and Craig all begged off, not wanting to end their night with strippers.

"Hey, Re-e-e-n?" Cartman whines from behind us. I heave an exasperated sigh and look over my shoulder at him. "You know, it's always amateur night here. You should ask the DJ to play a song for you and give the pole a try."

Stan, Clyde, and Token stifle snickers, but Kyle knits his brow and purses his lips in an angry frown. Nobody speaks for a minute. I rotate my whole body to face the fat boy, and assume a faux-patient expression. "Are you on crack?" I ask evenly. "Because you would have to be, to think that I would remove any of my clothing at your suggestion."

Kyle still looks pissed, but the other three surrender to their mirth. Cartman's comeback is spoken with a confidential cadence, but a volume loud enough to carry over the treble-heavy music.

"Well, not all of us can be Kenny." The boys' snickers swell into howls as my cheeks redden. Fucking Cartman. I start to pull a Craig and throw the fat bastard the finger over my shoulder, but Kyle grabs my hand. His frown is replaced with surprise and concern as he points to our birthday boy.

"Oh, shit," I say, watching as Butters' face falls. He gives in to a heaving sob, dropping his face to his hands. I'm halfway out of my chair when he looks up, panic-stricken. The lap-dancer finally gets a clue and starts to step back just as Butters unloads a stream of Bennigan's and birthday cake right down her cleavage. She screams and jumps away, and Butters takes this chance to jump up from the chair and run from the building.

Well, I got that part right.

Kyle and I look at each other, desperately trying to remain somber. The dancer, throwing a fit and calling for a bouncer, keeps stomping her platform-shoe-clad foot with each "Oh MY GOD!" and "What the FUCK?". Each stomp splashes her with more vomit and makes her scream "EW!" again and again. Unable to hold it in any longer, all six of us scramble up and out of the smoky room, pealing with glee at the hilarious scene.

Butters is sitting on the hood of my car, knees up, arms crossed and head down. He is crying audibly, too absorbed in his tears to hear us approach. I silently wave the other guys off, letting them know that I'll take care of the emotional Butters. All five of them look relieved as they get in Stan's car. Kyle puts his hand to his ear, pinky up, in an "I'll call you" gesture as they drive away.

"Hey, Butters," I say, climbing up on the hood with him. He moves his head so that his chin is resting on his arms where his forehead was, and studies his shoelaces. I put my hand on his back and make slow, big circles as a last few straggling sobs find their way to the surface. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"Y-yes. N-no. I-I mean, I want to go home, darnit, but I don't wanna be alone yet." He turns to me, eyes glinting in the streetlight. "Will you come with me? I-I've got Hello Kitty Island Adventure, Ren, it's so fun for sure! Or-or we can watch a movie, like _Burlesque, _I just love Christina Aguilera in that one. Did you see that one, Ren?"

"No, not yet, Butters. Let's go. I'll grab my stuff and we'll have a slumber party." Butters leaps off the hood, the events of the past hour apparently forgotten. He holds out a hand to help me down, and once I have both feet on the ground, gives me a hug.

"Hey Ren?" he asks, face buried in my shoulder.

"Yeah?"

Butters pulls away, keeping his hands on my shoulders. He cocks his head and regards me at arms' length. _"_Sure Cartman's a dummy, but _you _know I don't like girls in that way, don'tcha?"

I smile at his confidence. "Of course I do, sweetie." His grin takes over his whole face, causing his nose to wrinkle and his eyes to squeeze shut. "Now let's go; I have a Lady Gaga CD in my room for you so you can memorize all the lyrics before the show."

-XXX-

Back in my room, I change into a cami and shorts and cover the whole thing with a giant hoodie that Kyle lent me in class last week. I grab my pillow, purse, and phone charger, and, as an afterthought, a huge bag of grapes I liberated from the café. My hand is on the doorknob when I notice that Lexus's pink teddy bear is lying on its side on her bed. Butters must have set him there instead of back on her desk. The danger of her even coming home is low, but I don't want her to think I'm into touching her stuff. I pick him up and set him back on her desk between the vase of fake roses and the makeup mirror. _Heavy little guy. He must have a voice box inside; one of those "talking" stuffed animals. _I don't bother to squeeze him to hear what he says; those things creep me out.

With one last look around the room, I turn off the light, join Butters in the hall, and lock the door. I have a weird sense that I am forgetting something, or missing something, but I dismiss it as Butters and I head to his room, giggling about some boy he is crushing on. Whatever it is, I'll remember it and take care of it tomorrow.

**A/N: Sorry for being a tease. **

**And yes, in my world, Butters is a HUGE Lady Gaga fan. Weird, because I'm not even really a fan, but it seemed right for Butters. **

**NO, I have never made a periscope to spy on anybody, but I did make one for a science project when I was in third grade. I spied on my hamster, Veggie. She wasn't quite as exciting as Stan and Kyle.**

…**aaaaand thanks….more drama to come**


	5. Busted

**A/N: okay, there's even more feel-good fluff here, but also a bit of drama. I guess writing fluff just makes me happy right now. Some more non-fluff will hit in the future but I guess right now, fluff is where it's at for me. So kill me. **

**Also, I kind of like a slower buildup. **

**I actually love this chapter. I love "learning" things about my characters as I write them. I know my version of Kenny is far from the usual fanfic version of Kenny, but I just …see him as liking girls (sorry Butters!) (I love reading a good K2 or Bunny fic but am not good at writing it) (yet). I wanted to challenge myself to see other sides of the older versions of the SP kids.**

**Again, I don't own SP or any of the bands or songs mentioned. **

I loathe Tuesdays. Mondays, at least, bring the promise of a new week and carry a lingering charge from the weekend. Wednesdays are a perch from which you can see Thursday, which is the official start to the weekend since there are no classes on Fridays. But Tuesday? Tuesday is nothing, a pointless wasteland of classes and errands and chores, and few (if any) redeeming qualities.

This Tuesday is particularly painful. Still in "party mode" after Butters' birthday outing, Wendy and I stretched out the dregs of the weekend in Denver, shopping and spending Sunday night in a cheap-ish motel with two bottles of sparkling wine. Monday's hangover was punctuated with knocks on our door and voices calling "Housekeeping!" We didn't roll out of bed until Cartman sent a string of texts, wondering why Wendy didn't show up for Biology. She almost didn't care that she had missed a class; Cartman's apparent concern rendered her giddy and we rushed to get home so that she could meet him.

Spending the rest of Monday afternoon and evening in bed only made things worse. I woke up this morning with that disconnected, depressed, slept-too-long feeling. I took my time getting dressed and applying make-up, and scooted into history a full seven minutes late. A mousy kid with thick glasses leaned over and passed me a handout; on it were instructions for our midterm paper. I barely glanced at it before shoving it in my folder and putting my head on the table "to rest my eyes."

"Miss Kinloch?" A brusque voice falls on my ears and startles me into awareness. "Care to join us?" _Shit. _

"Sorry," I mumble, opening my textbook. I spend the rest of class looking down at the book and flickering in and out of sleep, letting my hair fall forward to conceal my closed eyes. When the sound of backpacks zipping and chairs scooting alerts me to the end of class, I feel as if I have been sitting in the chair for hours. I rub my eyes and open my folder to finally look at the midterm assignment: read 1776 and choose one of the following topics…ugh. I shove everything into my bag, place a huge pair of retro headphones over my messy pigtails, and half-stumble out of the room to the sound of Milo Aukerman singing to me that he's "been there all along."

The daunting task of reading 400 pages of tedious drivel about American history sits heavily on my shoulders as I make my way to the vending machine. Only Red Bull will get me through my next class. The hallway is deserted; this is the third time in a row that Dr. Mauer has kept us late, oblivious to the hands on the clock forming a 90-degree angle signaling that it is, indeed, 9:00. Exhaustion is running through my veins; I briefly consider ditching statistics and cocooning myself in a pile of blankets on my bed. Two days of classes is nothing; people get the flu and miss a few days all the time. Either way, I have my heart set on a caffeine and sugar fix, so I trod down the stairs to the first floor, planning a detour to the vending room.

As I turn the corner into to the vending room, I screech to a halt, literally leaving black streaks on the floor with my shoes. A familiar form is standing next to the snack machine. Taking a step back to conceal myself with the wall, I inhale deeply to calm the tingling in my limbs as adrenaline floods my body. Fatigue retreats, replaced by a strange and pleasant nervous excitement. I place my hands on the wall and slowly crane my neck to peer through the doorway. Kenny is in profile, slightly pouting as he bounces on his toes, hands in pockets. He doesn't see or hear me; a telltale white cord connects an iPod in his pocket to a set of earbuds that play him a personal soundtrack and block out all other sound. His eyebrows knit together for a moment, then relax as his eyes light up as if he has thought of an idea. He shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and unzips a pocket, pulling pens and scraps of paper out as he rummages through the contents. I watch intently as he continues his frantic search in another pocket, heaving a sigh of disgust. Kenny lets his head drop; his shoulders droop in a gesture of defeat. I frown, confused, wondering if I should intervene. I take a deep breath and step into the room as Kenny stands. I can see his reflection in the glass that separates him from rows of junk food; his expression changes from sadness to anger as he hits the surface with the palm of his hand. Our reflections blur for a moment as the machine shakes, and when they still, I see Kenny's eyes widen as he notices me. He turns quickly, tugging with one hand the cord to his earbuds, taking a breath and parting his lips to speak. I beat him to the chance.

"Hey," I smile. "I don't know which one of you started the fight, but judging by your expression, the machine is kicking your ass." _Okay, that was…I don't know what that was. _I hope I sounded flirtatious, as intended, and not like a moronic female version of Cartman.

Kenny closes his eyes and smirks. I inwardly sigh with relief; I think he got the joke.

"I forgot to eat breakfast, and I was eyeing the Snacky Cakes here," he says with a quick gesture to the machine, "but I guess I also forgot my…" he trails off as he takes a breath, running a hand through his hair. It stops at the back of his head and stays there as he looks at the ground and lets out a shuddering sigh. I take a chance.

"Well, I could give you some change, but…come on." I step closer; nudge him so we are both gazing into the machine. "Cheesy Poofs? Chippers? Choco-Pillows? _Chocolate Salty Balls?_" My voice increases in speed and pitch as I recite the increasingly ridiculous names. Kenny snorts with what I guess is laughter, but there is an undercurrent I can't quite decode. I move my eyes to look at him, and think _now or never. _ Turning to face him completely, I wrap my fingers around his forearm and try to put on a conspiratorial face.

"There is only one answer to this dilemma, but it means you have to trust me. Are you willing to leave campus to escape the siren song of evil junk food with ill-thought-out names? " _Where is this coming from? _ I'm actually quite impressed with myself.

"You'd skip a class to save me from the succubus known as Snacky Cakes?" I smile; he's playing along.

"Who said I had a class?" I ask."Come on, my car is somewhere in the residence hall parking lot. Our first challenge is finding it."

-XXX-

My bare legs are freezing as I unlock the passenger side of the Saab and throw my bag into the space behind the seat. I hold the door as I look at Kenny and gesture to the seat. He hesitates and looks from me to the car.

"This…is your car?"

"No, _this _is a precision machine based on aerospace technology. What did you expect, one of…these?" I ask, pointing out rows and rows of SUVs and sports cars boasting swirly monogram stickers and Greek letters.

I'm rewarded with a full-on grin, this time displaying painfully adorable overcrowded bottom teeth. I bite my lip as I try to shake away thoughts of my obsession with his imperfect teeth. He catches me staring and self-consciously clamps a hand over his mouth, but doesn't stop smiling. I turn away, heading toward the driver's side. _Busted. Damn it. _

I connect my iPod to the stereo and hand it to Kenny. "Here, I like everything on this, so whatever you want to listen to is good." He chooses an old Against Me! album. It seems like he has forgotten all about my little staring faux pas.

"Where are we going?" he asks me, watching as I shift the car into fifth gear and accelerate.

"Just trust me," I reply with a smile, wishing I were brave enough to reach over and brush the hair from his eyes. The air is heavy with possibility and I don't quite trust myself to do much more than focus on the road. "If you aren't absolutely thrilled, I will hand you the keys and we will go anywhere else you want," I promise as Kenny settles back into the cracked leather seat.

Even though the day is cold, I open the sunroof and turn the heater to full blast. I'm preoccupied with the giddiness that comes with spending time around someone new, high on the feeling of excitement and torn between wanting to savor the newness and wanting to just _know _him already. I'm maneuvering the Saab around an icy corner when a gust of wind blows a few stray strands of my hair toward my face. They become stuck in my lip gloss, and before I can reach up to free them, Kenny's hand is there, sweeping them out of the way. It is not so much the unexpected touch, but the fact that he is just sitting there _watching _me, that reignites the flush of my cheeks. I say a silent prayer of thanks that our destination is in sight.

"IHOP?" Kenny's eyes light up as he moves to sit straighter and look out the window. "You're taking me to IHOP?" I'm barely have the car parked and the brake set when he leans across the console and pulls me into a quick, awkward hug. Before I can process this, he is out of the car, bouncing rapidly on his toes and looking through the restaurant's windows. Suddenly, Tuesday doesn't suck so much anymore.

-XXX-

Once Kenny has demolished not only his stack of pancakes but also three-quarters of my French toast and an entire pitcher of orange juice, he becomes talkative and even more animated. I build a tower with creamer cups and knock it down with my coffee stirrer as he gestures wildly, telling me stories about growing up in South Park. When he stops to take a breath, I cut in.

"Can I ask you something?" I don't really wait for permission. "When was the last time you ate something besides Snacky Cakes?" I wrinkle my nose and smile to let him know I'm half-kidding, but he puts his chin in his hand and props his elbow on the table, assuming a façade of deep thought.

He turns his eyes to me. "I stole a PBJ sandwich from Cartman's backpack last Friday, and Butters gave me an apple yesterday." I must look horrified, because he reaches across the table to cover my hand with his. Kenny's expression grows grave and his voice lowers an octave. "Tell me this. Have you ever even _tried _Snacky Cakes? They're like, the quintessential South Park junk food. They don't hold a candle to all this"-he gestures to the table with his free hand-"but they're so bad that they're good."

I get the sense that he is relieved at his success in directing the conversation away from himself, so I don't pry. We settle into an unexpectedly comfortable silence, but it is short-lived. My phone vibrates in my bag and I try to ignore it, but whoever it is calls again. And again. Kenny squeezes my hand, I assume to let me know it's okay to let go and see who is calling.

I dig through my bag and find my phone at the bottom. "It's Butters," I say quietly, and hit "ignore," feeling guilty about the slight. The caller ID screen minimizes and I notice that I have five text messages. All from Butters.

**11:01 am**

**Ren, call me?**

**11:06 am**

**Are you okay? I know you aren't in class…**

**11:09 am**

**Ren, you need to come home.**

**11:11 am**

**I'm in the Grand Lounge with Eric. Come see us asap**

**11:17 am**

**Emergency. Srsly get home NOW**

I extract a credit card from my wallet and hand it over to Kenny. "Can you go pay while I call him back? Something's wrong..." I look up and see that his blue eyes are clouded with concern. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong."

I hit "call" and wait for Butters to answer. When he does, he sounds absolutely stressed, which is not like Butters at all.

"Ren, I saw Eric…ounge with his laptop and he has a….o of you in your room taking all…off and he won't give it to me. He told me…all you and he would only…you about it!"

"Wait, Cartman has a what? Butters…did he hurt you? What is going on?"

I barely hear his "no"; my phone beeps three times, signaling that it has dropped the call. I get such shitty reception here. I punch out a quick "be there soon bad reception" and hit "send." Kenny has returned from paying and he helps me put on my jacket.

"What's wrong? Is Butters okay?" The concern in his voice placates me; whatever is going on, I now know I won't have to face it alone.

"I don't know. My phone died out. I'm just going to meet him; that's what he kept texting anyway: 'come home, meet me'."

Outside, the sun is high in the sky, battling the cold air and winning just enough to illuminate the top of my head with warmth. I unlock the passenger door and Kenny lets out a low laugh.

"What?"

"Is that like, reverse chivalry or something?"

I give him a playful shove. "_No._" I stick my tongue out at him. "It's just the lock on the driver's side doesn't work." I turn to walk to the other side of the car, but Kenny grabs my wrist and says, "wait" as he turns me back to face him. He pulls me in until our faces are only inches apart. I meet his gaze as he takes hold of my other hand.

"Thank you," he breathes, and gently presses his lips to mine. I close my eyes and lean into him, parting my lips as he moves his hands to either side of my face. He tastes like maple syrup and cinnamon. I wrap my arms around him and thread the fingers of my right hand in the hair at the back of his head, tugging lightly. He grazes my bottom lip with those teeth and that's when I have to break away, not because I want to, but because I'm dizzy with desire.

Kenny is quiet on the way home, but I can't help but notice his persistent smile and flushed cheeks. When I look over and make eye contact, he leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Nothing could possibly make this day anything less than perfect. _Yeah, I love Tuesdays._

-XXX-

Kenny is still holding my hand when we arrive breathlessly at Blair Hall. I had to park about a half-mile from the building, and Butters' continuing texts pushed us to half-jog across campus to make it to our destination that much faster.

The Grand Lounge is depressingly dim compared to the full sun outside. The television is dormant for once, and the sofas and tables are nearly deserted. All the ambitious kids are in class while all the slackers are still in bed. Cartman and Butters occupy a round table in the corner, three chairs separating them so that they are almost facing one another. Cartman is perusing a huge Dell laptop; Butters alternates between checking out his nails and bumping his fists together nervously. Kenny lets out a soft "hey" and both boys jerk their heads up. I can't see what Cartman is viewing on the screen but he looks pleased with himself. Butters jumps up and starts stuttering as Cartman leans back, crosses his arms, and regards us with narrowed eyes. His stare flicks to our intertwined fingers, and I blush furiously.

"Ren, I-ah told Eric just to-just get rid of it, but h-he refused. I swear, I-I don't know how it happened." Butters looks nervous and a bit angry, as if he isn't sure if he wants to escape this scene or clock Cartman upside the head. I shoot Kenny a confused look and he shrugs. "I stayed 'til you got here, but I got a class now, if I d-don't go, my parents'll-"

"It's okay, Butters, go." I pat him awkwardly on the shoulder. He grabs his backpack and scurries up the stairs and out the door. That was weird. I notice that I'm still clutching Kenny's hand and lead him over towards Cartman. The chunky boy's eyes follow me full of excitement; it is juxtaposed with the vicious sneer on his lips.

"You sure you want White Trash Loverboy here to join us?"

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Kenny." I slightly emphasize his name, already on the defensive. An unidentified feeling starts to tickle my mind, I feel like I'm supposed to remember something but have no idea what it is. The feeling dissipates as I give my head a slight shake. Eric frees a crossed arm to swing it wide, gesturing to the chairs next to him.

"Well, then, by all means…"

We skirt the table, still hand-in-hand. Declining to sit, I lean forward to rest my free hand on the table next to the laptop while Kenny stands directly behind me. Cartman snakes a stubby finger to the keyboard and stabs the spacebar, killing the screensaver. I squint slightly, trying to decipher the moving picture in front of me. A female figure moves in a lamp-lit room, pulling a sweater over her head and letting her skirt drop to the floor. The weird tickle I felt earlier explodes like a bomb and sweat springs out of my pores. I'm watching myself. I'm watching myself, on Cartman's computer screen, change into pajamas. The pajamas I wore to watch movies in Butters' room the night after his birthday party.

_The night of Butters' birthday party. _Cartman lets the me on the screen turn around and give us a full view of her lacy bra before hitting the space bar again, freezing the image in place. He crosses his arms again and turns to me.

"It seems that we have here a situation." It comes out slowly; he is savoring this. I wait. The words he _isn't _saying explain everything I need to know. If he has video of me changing _after _Butters' birthday party, he has video of what I did _before _I left the room that night. My shock morphs into anger as he stares at me in silence. Kenny speaks first.

"You crossed a line, dude. You make me fucking sick." The eerie calm in his voice tells me that he is beyond angry, but this is between Cartman and I. Kenny only knows part of the story.

"How the hell did you even get something like that, you disgusting pig?" I finally let go of Kenny's hand to grab the larger boy by the shirt. I feel Kenny step back as if to give me space. I stare Cartman in the eye for a moment, then feel my eyes widen with realization. "Nanny cam," I breathe out. The words ooze with disgust. "The pink bear…oh my God, did _Butters-?"_

"Aww, don't get your thong in a twist," he lewdly drawls. _Thong. That asshole, how many times has he watched me undress? _"Butters had _nothing _to do with this. I gave that sparkly pink wireless-webcam teddy bear to your airheaded little roommate with her tip the last time I ate at Raisins, thinking I'd get lucky and see her titties. Looks like I got more than I bargained for. I think I have what you could call _the upper hand._"

_No, fatass, we are on equal ground. We were _both _spying on others. _ I say nothing. He's right. I'm the one who could lose friends here; Stan and Kyle would never forgive me for being a peeping Tom, but people expect this kind of thing from Cartman. I glance over my shoulder at Kenny, he is leaning back in a chair, arms crossed, hood obscuring all but his eyes. Right now, they nothing more than narrow slits directed at the other boy's face. I turn back to my nemesis.

"What do you want, Cartman?"

He feigns innocence. "Blackmail? Me? No…"

"Cut the shit and just tell me." I'm tempted to bash the computer over his head, but I control myself.

"Find a way to get the bear into Wendy's room."

"No fucking way, not going to happen. Try again, lardass."

He has the audacity to look hurt at this. "Fine," he says. "Well, there is _one _thing…" He reaches a chubby hand into his backpack and extracts a page torn from a catalog. I flick my eyes over it for a millisecond.

"Done." Shock registers on his face. He has no idea how easily he just let me off the hook. "Yes. Fine. Done. The iPad is yours. We'll go tomorrow. My classes end at 12:30. You have my number." I straighten to my full height and look down at Cartman; his face is stuck in an expression of dumb surprise and disbelief. "But Wendy and Kenny go, too. I'm not driving to Denver and back with just you." I turn on my heel and stalk away. I can hear Kenny scramble out of the chair to follow closely behind.

"Whoa, wait, did you just agree to buy Cartman a fucking iPad?" At least that's what I think he says, I turn with more of a glare than I intend to and motion for Kenny to take his damn hood down. He laughs at my attempt at a mean face, and I can't help but dissolve into giggles. "Are you gonna be…okay…with that?" This time he speaks clearly. I nod and grab his hand.

"I'm going to be just fine. Now, let's go. We have a bear to kill." I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking that as long as Cartman keeps his fat mouth shut, I'll offer to buy him every damn iPad accessory in the store.

-XXX-

I open my door and step in, kicking off my shoes in the process. Kenny is still standing in the doorway, hands in his hoodie pocket, staring at the floor. I guess it _is _a little awkward for us to be hanging out in my room alone on the first day we actually interact for more than forty-five seconds. I didn't even think about it. If I didn't know better, I would think he was suddenly shy.

"What's wrong?" _Ugh, stupid. Stupidest question ever. _"Do you have to-"

Kenny looks up at me and takes his hands from his pocket to wrap them around my upper arms. "Listen, I've had a lot of…I used to…" he sighs and shakes his head, apparently unable to finish his thought. "I just don't want this to be the only time we ever hang out like this, and if we go in there…" As he lets yet another sentence die young, I force myself to keep a straight face; it's pretty darn cute. I think back to what Wendy said in the bathroom at Bennigan's.

"I wouldn't let you off the hook so easily." Thankfully, this makes him smile. I pull him in and close the door. He makes himself right at home on the tiny bed.

"Ugh, this is horrible, I mean, it's practically worse than my bed at home!" While he bounces on the bed, laughing at the awful squeaking sound it makes, I busy myself with finding the pink bear among the menagerie of plushies on Lexus's desk.

"There you are, you little pink bastard." I turn to Kenny, who is now sitting in my desk chair, apparently renouncing his quest to find comfort on the crappy bed. He is scanning the titles on the shelf above the desk, running a finger along the spines as his lips move silently. His eyes drop to my computer; he lets out an amused noise at the sticky notes that line the edge of the screen. I grant the bear a temporary clemency and shove him under my bed, double-checking that his "eyes" are facing the wall. When I look up, Kenny is peering down at the space between the desk and the wall. He reaches down and retrieves the juice-carton periscope, turning to me as a perplexed frown settles onto his features.

"Ren, what the hell is…oh my God." I can't help it this time; all the tears I held in the whole time I dealt with Cartman now threaten to spill, and I'm rendered motionless, stuck to the floor. I use all my strength to keep my eyes on Kenny, on the floor in front of me, anywhere but _up, _but they dumbly betray me and swivel to the hole in the corner. "Oh my _God!" _Kenny repeats, and jumps up from the chair. I close my eyes and brace myself for a scolding or even a physical assault, but when nothing comes I open my eyes and see Kenny standing on the desk, contraption in hand. He doesn't need the stack of books to put him level with the hole. After a moment of studying the taped-together juice cartons and the hole next to the ceiling, he figures it out and takes a look.

I wring my hands for lack of anything else to do. _Oh, God, I am so fucked up. I'll have to leave, I can go to college anywhere, I can leave tonight, I'll just-_

Kenny's voice interrupts my escape plan. "Holy shit, that's Kyle's bed! Oh, wow, I have never seen anything like this before!" He sounds…excited rather than angry, or disgusted, or even disappointed. He jumps off the desk and abandons the periscope next to a pencil holder before crossing the room and putting his hands on my shoulders. I'm so scared that my eyelids tremble and I can't keep them open, but he regards me at arms' length and smiles, this time not hiding it at all. Confused, I try to return the grin but only manage to bare my teeth in a cringe. Today's theme seems to be "busted," and it keeps getting worse.

"You were watching Stan and Kyle." He speaks matter-of-factly but punctuates it with a saucy, sexy expression. I raise an eyebrow. "That's actually kind of…hot, I mean…I really…where did you-"

He is stumbling over words again so I interrupt him. "You aren't pissed and disgusted that I was spying on your best friends? On _my _friends?"

"Are you kidding?" His smile gets bigger. "I think you and I more alike than you know." I watch as Kenny's smile melts into a look of comprehension. "Oh my God, Cartman's fucking bear saw you spying. _That's _why you're letting him get away with this. That fucking asshole, I should break his legs." I start to tell him it's okay, I can deal with Cartman, when an unfamiliar ringer sounds. Kenny looks startled for a moment before reaching into his pocket. He looks at the caller ID; his face falls a little bit as he looks back to me. "It's my mom. I have to pick her up. Only one truck, you know..." He pockets the phone and returns his full attention to me, reaching out to brush my bangs out of my eyes. I stand completely still as he brings his lips to my forehead and gathers me into an embrace. We stand like that for a moment, until his phone rings again and he sighs, breaking the hug. He speaks as he reaches for my door.

"I'll see you soon. _Really _soon, I hope." Kenny affords me one last enthralling smile before he ducks out the door.

I'm left speechless and wanting, yet oddly satisfied with this particular Tuesday.


	6. Telephone

**A/N: Fluff, fluff. I just can't stop the fluff. I really do know how this entire story ends (many chapters in the future), though, and I'm in love with the end, but … I need the fluff backstory. This chapter is half of what used to be one chapter, but it was super-long so I cut it in half. The other half will be up soon. After that one, stuff should move a bit faster, although I'm having fun just writing about the gang's silly college antics. **

**I'm still having the love/hate relationship with this story, and I'm working on a few ideas for new stories without OCs…but I need to finish this one. It's become an obsession. **

**Do I need to say it? I don't own South Park or any of the songs mentioned. I don't own the silly fish sticks joke, I don't own any of the cool real places mentioned…just this idea and my weird little OC, who is based on a character from a story I wrote years ago for a class. We'll learn more about her soon, though. Enough. On with the antics…**

"_Well I wait so long for my love vibration_

_And I'm dancin' with myself, oh, oh, oh_

_Dancin' with myself…"_

Gluh. It is w_ay _too early for anyone to be calling. I blindly reach for my phone and silence Billy Idol. Opening one eye, I squint at the caller ID and sigh.

"What." It's more an irritated grunt than a question.

"Whoa-ho, what a little ray of sunshine you are. Remind me to never hire you as a receptionist."

"Yeah, well, dream on…never gonna happen. Not if it were the last job on Earth. I'd rather live in a cardboard box than work as your receptionist, Cartman. What do you want?"

"Cardboard box, eh? Well at least you have a realistic vision for your life with Kenny." Cartman's whiny snort of a laugh punctuates the dig. I decide not to glorify it with a response, so he continues. "I just wanted to make sure we were still on for today. I'll be there waiting at 12:30."

"Get here at 12:00. I'm not going to my 11:00 class today. We need to talk before we meet up with Wendy and Kenny." I hit "end" without waiting for a response; it's probably a bad thing to give Cartman anything resembling a choice. I type out "be at my room at 12:30," choose Wendy and Kenny from my contact list, and send the text. I still refuse to spend a day alone with pain-in-the-ass Cartman.

-XXX-

"Fuck!" I throw my phone at my bed in frustration and watch it bounce among the pillows. I turn my head as the door opens and Cartman sticks his head in without knocking.

"What's wrong?" he asks as he pushes his bulk through the opening. He twists his face into a Grinch-like smile. "Not enough hot action from your two favorite fags yet today?_"_

I roll my eyes as I turn to fully face him and put my hands on my hips. "Noooo, it's just that I texted Kenny this morning and haven't heard back, and now every time I try to call I get that stupid '_we're sorry, the subscriber you are trying to reach is not available" _message." I realize how obsessive I sound about a half-second too late when Cartman barely disguises a mocking laugh with a fake cough. "And I only did that one time, so shut the fuck up, porker."

"Let me ask you something, Ginger. How well exactly do you know McCormick?"

Considering that it takes me a few seconds to realize that he's talking about Kenny, I answer truthfully. "Not very," I say distractedly as I search for my black and pink Etnies. "Oh, and gingers have freckles. I don't. Insult fail."

He waves off my correction. "Kenny's too damn poor to top off his pre-paid phone. I'm sure he ran out of minutes again. Happens all the time." _Is he trying to console me? _"I know where he lives. If you're…brave enough…we can just go find him…but…but…" the sentence dies into a grating laugh.

I consider this for a moment, then wrinkle my nose and throw my hands up as if to say, "_oh, screw it." _"Let's just get a move on. I'll go see if Stan and Kyle want to come along instead." _I mean, if Kenny wanted to go, he could have just shown up here. _Instead of dwelling on it, I pull an American Express card out or my wallet and cross the room to where Cartman is now leering at the photos Lexus has taped above her desk. "Listen," I say, handing him the card, "I don't want anyone to know I'm paying for your little trip to the Apple store, much less the reason why. Get whatever you want, but remember: if you so much as breathe a hint of this to anyone, ever, I'll tell Wendy about your_ first_ suggestion." I pause, watching the huge boy as he stares in disbelief at the card in his hand. "And then I'll throw your fat ass out in front of a bus."

"What-_ever_." He pockets the card and eyes me. "Are you sure you don't want to go find McCormick?" He sounds almost, _almost _friendly.

"Yeah," I shrug. "I'll catch up with him later. In the meantime, I'll just drown my disappointment in shoes."

"Did I hear someone say 'shoes'?" Wendy steps through the door, dressed in skinny jeans and a purple coat. I smile.

"Yes! I have no appropriate clothes for this weather in this place, I swear. I need tights and boots and…stuff. And I'll need your help. We were just going. I'm going next door for a second."

"Where's Kenny?"

"Not answering his phone. I'm going to see if Stan and Kyle wanna go instead. You guys lock up and meet me next door." I toss Wendy my keys and step out, hearing an almost-shy "Hi, Eric" as I tap on the boys' door. Kyle answers, looking flustered.

"Cartman and Wendy and I are going to Denver to spend copious amounts of money, wanna come?"

Stan jumps up from his bed, spilling textbooks and notes. "Hell, yeah, dude. I can't take another minute of Chemistry."

Kyle turns to face him. "Dude, you've only been studying for like ten minutes."

"Yeah, that's like nine minutes too long."

Kyle pinches the bridge of his nose and turns back to me. "I really have to work on my English midterm. I wish I could go, but…why don't you guys come get me when you get back and we'll all do something."

"Okay. But you have to decide what we do later. Anything you want." I'm a little disappointed that Kyle isn't joining us, but at least with Stan there I won't feel like a third wheel to Cartman and Wendy. Stan finishes buttoning his peacoat and walks over to Kyle, putting his hands on his shoulders.

"Have fun studying, Kylie." Kyle furrows his brow angrily as a soft pink blush creeps across his cheeks and threatens to deepen. Stan leans in to kiss him on the nose, and suddenly, his face nearly matches his hair. I busy myself with a very interesting, very non-existent spot on the floor. "We'll get you something good, I promise!" I look up as Stan ruffles Kyle's curls and steps out to the hallway smiling as the redhead closes the door. When I raise my eyebrows, Stan just smiles wider and shrugs.

Wendy and Cartman are already at the end of the hallway, waiting impatiently. As we approach them, I get an idea.

"You guys, wait." I pull out my phone and dial Butters. He'll be thrilled to go to the city.

-XXX-

Road trips. Heaven and hell wrapped up in one car-shaped package, sprinkled with junk food and arguments over who gets control of the stereo.

Stan is sitting to my right, fiddling with my phone, unable to let a full song play until the end. He put my entire playlist on shuffle when we got in the car, and now keeps hitting the "next" button about three-quarters of the way through each song. Wendy is seated behind him, working on a Tootsie pop and trying to ignore Cartman's snoring. Said snorer is fast asleep, one foot firmly in each footwell on either side, efficiently using up most of Wendy and Butters' legroom. His head is tilted toward Wendy's shoulder, and I'm pretty sure she is secretly thrilled. Butters is playing with my hair, trying to put it in Princess Leia buns but failing due to the breeze from the sunroof. I'm still trying to shake the feeling of rejection that is pressing at me and trying to ruin my day. _Stop it, Ren, the guy kissed you once. This wasn't a date or anything. _When I turn into the lot at Cherry Creek mall and shout "We're here!" the words sound hollow.

"Ah-I've got somethin' to do, guys," Butters says as we walk to the entrance. "Can I just, uh, just meet up with you guys in a while?"

"Sure, Butters, call me if you need to, 'kay?" I turn to Wendy and read the question in her eyes. "Wendy, I need help choosing _one _little thing, can you come with me to one store?" I want to give Cartman a chance to raid the Apple store alone before he spends the rest of the day with her. She nods. I turn to Stan. "Come with us. It's time I learn to dress for winter in South Park."

-XXX-

"Hey, you look good in a hat," Stan laughs as I try on what must be my fiftieth. I strike a silly pose and he whips his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture.

"What's that for? I hate cameras," I grumble, putting the hat back on the shelf. He makes a pouty face at me and I relent. "Fine, keep it. But no more!"

My biggest fear when Wendy left us to find Cartman was that the day would be awkward, considering that Stan and I have never spent any time alone together. Kyle has always been around, so I know little about my dark-haired friend. Turns out I was worrying needlessly; Stan is, as I have mentioned, hilariously funny, and quite a good shopper, too.

"Um, Ren, you have bought four pair of boots, six skirts, I don't know how many tights, three hats, an entire bag of sweaters…and I'm hungry."

"Food court?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

The food court is nearly empty; it's too early for the after-high-school crowd. I consider my choices as Stan heads straight for the pizza. I decide on a milkshake and head over to the frozen yogurt stand.

"Would you like a spoon or a straw or both?" I barely register the cashier's question as I remember drinking milkshakes with Malcolm after receiving my brown belt in Karate.

"_You'll never get anywhere with that straw, Renny. Here, have my spoon."_

"_I don't _want _your spoon, Mac. I'll be fine." I draw on the straw with limited success. Why did I get an Oreo shake? _

"_You'll miss out on all those Oreos…" Malcolm's eyebrows are raised in a questioning gesture, an invitation. _Take the damn spoon, _his eyes are saying. I reach out and grab it from where he is tauntingly twirling it in the air._

"_Will you go get me, um, some napkins?"_

"_Sure thing, kid."_

_At least now I can get a few bites in without him watching me._

"Miss? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. Um, straw, thanks." I take my shake and wander to the tables.

Stan is working on a giant slice of bacon pizza, and he offers me a messy smile as I take a seat across from him. He starts to take another impossibly large bite, then changes his mind and sets the slice down.

"You know, Kyle would be nagging at me right now for eating so much junk food in one sitting." He looks down at the pizza and nachos in front of him. I get the sense that he is not complaining but rather leading in to a much less mundane topic. He leans back in his chair and slides his hat from his head, sighing. "He, um…he doesn't want to tell his parents about us yet. Sometimes I think he doesn't want to tell _himself _about us, if you know what I mean."

"How long have you guys…?"

"We've been Super Best Friends since we were…since forever. But…it all changed last year. We were at an after party for the homecoming dance, drinking Jaeger shots to celebrate our last homecoming at South Park High. I decided then was a good time to tell him that I had loved him since I moved back to South Park after my parents' divorce. He assumed I meant in a 'bromance' sort of way until I pushed him against the wall and kissed him senseless." Stan lights up with the biggest smile I've ever seen on his face. I smile back, warmed by the cute story, but before I can respond, he puts props his elbows on the table, leans in, and changes the subject. "You know, Kenny, like, disappears sometimes. Like, for hours, or a day…sometimes a few days. It's always been like that." I look down into my milkshake, not sure whether I'm blushing or stifling a smile or about to cry. "Me and Kyle are his best friends, and you can believe me when I say that if the cloud over your head today has anything to do with him not answering your call, you're being silly." The smile wins as I look up; I think this is the most I've ever heard Stan talk. I'm about to suggest that we find the arcade and play some good old Mortal Kombat, but Cartman and Wendy walk up to the table. His left arm is around her shoulders while his right hand balances a huge tray of food. He sets the tray down and pulls out a chair for Wendy. Stan and I share a look of surprise.

"Shopping makes me hungry," the large boy says to no one in particular. He picks up what looks like a fish stick and dips it in a cup of something that looks suspiciously like mayonnaise.

"Sick, dude!" Stan exclaims. Cartman shoots him a sidelong glance but doesn't respond; he's too busy chewing. When he swallows, he looks at me, holding a fried stick in his hand.

"'Ey, Ginger. Do you like fish sticks?" I give him a confused frown as Stan and Wendy roll their eyes.

"Um, no, I'm a vegetarian, fish is _meat."_

"God damn hippies, always gotta ruin the jo-"

Cartman is cut off by Butters, who has come up behind him. The blonde reaches an arm under the larger boy's and grabs a fish stick.

"Yoink! Haha, I love fish sticks!"

Cartman takes the opportunity. "Well then, Butters, you're a gay fi-" He aborts the punch line as he turns and gets a good look at Butters. We all turn our eyes to the little blonde who is now no longer concealed by Cartman's bulk. His hair is cut and styled in what I can only describe as a faux-hawk, and his baggy pleated trousers and button-up have been replaced by skinny jeans, a studded belt, a slim-fitting t-shirt, and a frayed-edge dark grey canvas blazer. Butters looks…hot.

Wendy takes in a breath. "Wow, Butters, that's quite a makeover." She is the only one who speaks. Even Cartman is speechless…for a moment.

"Y'know, Butters, I had no idea you could get any faggier, but you just went and proved me wrong." The fat boy snickers and turns back to his food; Stan makes a fist and socks him on the shoulder. I turn to Wendy, roll my eyes, and sigh as Butters takes a seat next to me. I tilt the rest of my milkshake toward him in an offering and he takes it. I pull my phone from my bag and look at the time.

"You guys, it's like seven. Let's get back and find everyone else; I'm tired of the mall!"

-XXX-

"Crap, you guys, I forgot. I have one more stop I want to make." I turn around to address Wendy, who is stuck in the backseat between Stan and Cartman, who are both fast asleep. "Can you crawl over him?" I motion to the larger boy with a grin.

"I'll stay here and start texting everyone so that we have plans when we get home," she says. "You and Butters go on."

I pull up to the Patagonia store and engage the handbrake. "I'll try to be quick, Wendy. Butters, let's go."

"Wh-what are you gettin' here, Ren?" Butters is shivering, the store is cold.

"I need a real coat. And then…something else. Follow me."

I find the perfect down vest in a shade of green that brings out my eyes, and a black three-quarter length parka that hangs slightly longer than my skirt. Butters tags along, holding my purchases. We walk purposefully over to the men's side, and I peruse the parkas that line the racks. I pull out a slate blue one and hold it up.

"What do you think, Butters?" He looks confused for a moment, but then realization lights his eyes and he shakes his head.

"Aw, it's…perfect, but Ren, Kenny just hates charity, I don't think-"

"Oh, hush. This is _so _not charity. I can deal with the ratty red hoodie, but the orange parka has to go. Orange is my least-favorite color, ever." I grab the pile of coats from his arms. "My motives are purely selfish." Lies. I just don't see how the boy could possibly stay warm all winter in the…orange thing. It kind of breaks my heart. "Come on, everyone is waiting."

Back in the car, all three of our companions are asleep. As we are getting on the highway, Butters pulls my new vest from the bag at his feet and balls it up, creating a makeshift pillow. As I listen to the tires rhythmically roll on the pavement, I realize that I finally feel somewhat normal.

-XXX-

I'm daydreaming, staring into a cup of watery coffee when two hands wrap around my eyes from behind, startling me back to reality.

"Agh! Guess who?"

"Ohhhhh, I dunno….Kyle? No, wait. Um…Clyde?" I'm having too much fun teasing the little blonde. " No, no, no….I know! TWEEK!" I turn around and jump up from my chair, pulling the trembling boy into a hug. I haven't spent much time with Tweek in the past few days, and I've missed him. He takes the seat to my right as Craig scrutinizes the chair across from him. Finally deciding it is cootie-free, he sits, offering Clyde next to him a stoic middle finger.

Even though we ate our fill of junk food at the mall, we decided to get everyone together at Village Inn. The turnout is huge, but I can't help but notice that Kenny is still absent. I surreptitiously pull my phone from my bag and dial it under the table, only pressing it to my ear when I see that the line has connected, but it's the same old message. I hang up and throw the phone back in my bag as if it is the source of all my angst. Bebe pipes up from the end of the table.

"You guys, let's play Telephone!" Wendy and Rebecca squeal, while Token and Clyde share a confused glance. I lean back in my seat and address Bebe.

"Um, you mean like the game that we used to play in grade school English classes to prove a point about word-of-mouth stories?"

"Yeah, but it's like…Telephone Truth or Dare. Anything goes. So if you want to share your secret, or better yet, tell a secret you know about someone-" Cartman cuts her off.

"Okay, guys…I'll start." He leans over to Tweek, and in a stage whisper that everyone could hear (were they paying attention) says, "Kyle is a stinking Jew."

"Agh! Um, that isn't very –ngh- nice to say!"

"Yeah, Eric, and you're supposed to whisper it, that's the whole point!" This from Wendy.

"Ah did whisper it, I just whispered it louder for a more dramatic effect!"

Tweek shrugs (or twitches, I can't tell) and leans over, cupping my ear with his hands. "Um, you, uh, heard the fatty, r-right?" I nod, excusing him from repeating the racist insult, and decide to play by my own rules.

"Kyle is soooo stinking cute," I whisper to Butters. I watch as Butters passes it on to Stan, who smiles and nods. Stan looks to his left and makes a "come here" gesture at Kyle, who cranes his neck to receive the "secret." His cheeks flush pink as Stan whispers; he rolls his eyes and passes it on to Bebe. Finally, after Token, Rebecca, Craig, and Clyde pass the message, it reaches full circle at Wendy.

"Kyle's ass is so cute!" Wendy shouts, revealing the missive she received.

"'Ey! That is NOT what ah SAID!" Cartman goes red in the face but Wendy's subtle petting of his bicep calms him quickly. I vaguely wonder what happened today, since the two of them are acting quite…affectionately toward each other. I make a mental note to ask Wendy about it later.

The game goes on, and we learn that "Ren's natural hair color is black" (not really a secret) and that "Bebe wears a triple-E bra" (obviously not true, but she giggles and stands on the chair and takes a bow anyway) and that "Cartman slept with Clyde up until last year" (to which he answers "Clyde FROG! Clyde FROG! He was a stuffed frog! God damn it!" while the real Clyde tries not to choke on his soda from laughing so hard). When it's Wendy's turn to "start," she turns to Cartman, grabs his chin in her hand, turns his face to hers, and kisses him full on the mouth.

"Okay. Pass it on," she says with a satisfied, smug smile.

Cartman looks to his left to see Tweek, who is staring at his plate of pancake debris and trembling, and trying not to look to the boy on his right. Cartman lets out a snort and says, "Screw you guys, I'm going home." As he passes behind my chair, he squeezes my shoulder. _Odd. _Wendy jumps up to follow him and mouths "I'll call you" in my general direction. I look at Tweek, who shrugs, and leans in to kiss me. He misses by about a centimeter; I laugh and reach up to muss his already-crazy hair. I turn to Butters, who is off in la-la land, doodling on the paper placemat with a pen he found in my bag. Okay, so Butters doesn't like girls, but since he's practically my best friend here, that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun. The game just got interesting; I want to keep it going.

I reach over and embrace the back of Butters' head with my left hand and gently tug on the short hairs there. He looks up, confused, and starts to speak, but I stop him by slowly pressing my lips to his. After a moment, I gently bite down on his lower lip, and then break the kiss. He looks absolutely dumbfounded, even more so than usual. When he finally speaks, he says, "You have _got _to teach me how to do that," and everyone at the table cracks up. He turns to Stan, giving him an awkward and chaste kiss. When Stan turns to Kyle, the table goes silent. Stan hesitates, asking permission with his eyes, but Kyle surprises us all by beating him to it, catching him off guard with a passionate kiss that lasts about ten seconds longer than could be considered "part of the game." We all erupt in a chorus of "ooooh" and don't stop until the goth kids at the next table shoot us daggers with their eyes.

I'm contemplating pulling out my phone and dialing Kenny's number again, when Tweek grabs my knee under the table and leans over. "I -ngh! Have a crush on Butters Stotch." Still in "Telephone" mode, I turn to Butters and start to whisper.

"I have a crush on Bu—I mean, Kenny. Butters, I have a crush on Kenny!" I save myself from spilling the very real secret at the last minute.

"Um, yeah, Ren. I knew that. Are you drinkin' or somethin'?" I barely hear him because I'm staring open-mouthed at Tweek, who is now shaking so hard I think he may just explode. I stand and practically pull him out of the chair. I take his hand and lead him to the restroom area. Once we are safely out of sight behind a cigarette machine and an obsolete payphone, I tell him to repeat himself.

"I-agh- I have a crush on B-Butters. I have for –ngh- a long time! I can't tell him though, that is way too much pressure!"

"Tweek, that's…." I smile. "But what about Craig, aren't you guys like…something?"

"N-no, agh, Craig and I really are just friends now. E-everyone assumes something else, but, but we're friends. And I know Butters has a thing for –ngh- Cartman, but you're like his best f-friend, so I had to tell you!"

I can' t believe I almost told him just now. My mind was so wrapped up in wondering where Kenny is, that I almost gave away my friend's secret. I think for a moment. "Well, do you want me to—"

"N-no!" Tweek starts to tremble again and his big eyes threaten to spill tears. "Maybe, just, you know…th-the next time you guys go out or whatever, you could, you could…"

"Of course, Tweek. We'll all go do something soon." I'm suddenly very tired; I feel so done with this day. I give the shaking boy a hug and head back to the table.

In our absence, most of the gang has left ("to go see a late movie" according to Kyle) leaving only Stan, Kyle, and Craig at the table. Tweek nudges Craig and whispers something to him, and they throw some money on the table before waving goodbye, Craig throwing up his usual one-finger greeting.

I am suddenly appalled by the mess we've left; I make a note to leave a huge tip but I'm grateful I don't have to clean up. I want nothing more than to change into ratty cut-off sweatpants and hibernate under my covers. I turn to the boys and plead, "Let's go home. I'm so tired I could fall asleep here on the table."

-XXX-

Stan, buzzed on sugar and coffee, proclaims his intent to travel down the entire hallway via somersaults. Kyle and I race to end to cheer him on, but before we can yell "go!" I look at my door and notice a pink Effen Vodka scrunchie hanging from the knob.

"What the fu…" I trail off as I pull a tiny sticky note from the door.

_Hey roomie, fire at my bf's house so we have to stay here. Hope you don't mind! You know what the scrunchie on the door means! XOXO_

I can't even feel anger; Kyle and I's race sucked any remaining energy from my body. I lean heavily against the wall and slide down, landing with a thud on the floor and placing my head on my knees. Stan rolls by, yelling "I'm sooooo dizzy!" but Kyle ignores his request for assistance; he is too busy reading the note that I let fall from my hand. When the dark-haired boy finally stands and stumbles over like Bambi learning to walk, I push myself up and make a silly, pouty face.

"There's no way I'm bugging Wendy and Cartman, and everyone else is at the movies…can I pleeeease sleep on your beanbag?"

"Of course, dude, we'll have a sleepover!" Stan shouts.

"Come on man, guys don't have sleepovers," Kyle says, his smile betraying the half-heartedness of his words.

"I know, but it gives us an excuse to eat Cheesy Poofs and play video games!"

I sigh, wondering if I will ever get any much-needed sleep. I'm pissed off about my formerly-MIA roommate's stunt and still feeling anxious about Kenny, but it's nearly impossible to stay in a bad mood with Kyle and Stan around.

"All right…but be warned, I plan to show my gratitude by kicking your asses at Super Smash Bros!"


	7. Friday is Forever

**A/N: This starts immediately where the last chapter ended—we're still on the same day, which if you want to get super technical is 9/14/11 (well, I guess 9/15 considering how late it really is). Here is more fluff, and wow I think I suck at writing semi-awkward make-out scenes, but yeah. Sorry I'm not giving you more yaoi action (I'm a total yaoi fangirl sometimes, too) but this story just turned into something else.**

**Also, I wrote the scene with "Two Truths and a Lie" a long time ago and have since seen another fic that uses it. I tried to change it but nothing else worked the way I wanted it to, so I left it in. **

"Guys, your room smells like a dirty gym sock," I say, crinkling up my nose. Kyle glares at Stan and grunts in what I assume is agreement as he walks to the window to let in some air. Stan grabs a box of Cheesy Poofs and starts throwing them in the air, one by one, and catching them in his mouth. _Food again, already? _

"Hit me," Kyle says, and Stan throws a Cheesy Poof in his general direction. He moves left to catch it in his mouth and smiles. I laugh.

"What is it with you guys and Cheesy Poofs?"

"Um, Cheesy Poofs are s_weet_, that's what it is." Stan throws another neon-orange lump at Kyle.

"Okay…um, I gotta see what the big deal is. Hit me, too, I guess."

Stan lifts his arms up in a victory "V" and yells "Score!" before fishing a Cheesy Poof out of the box and chucking it at my head. I go to catch it with my mouth, but change my mind at the last minute and grab it with my hand instead. I gingerly touch it to my tongue and cringe. "Eew, guys, this is so nasty. Ugh." I toss the offensive thing in the direction of the trash can, but Stan leaps up and catches it. Kyle cheers.

I flop down on to the huge beanbag chair and stretch my legs out in front of me. I should ask Kyle for some boxers or something so I don't have to sleep in a skirt. And maybe Stan will share one of his pillows. I decide I'll ask them…just as soon as I rest my eyes.

-XXX-

"No way dude. Don't do it, Stan!"

"Don't do what?" I can hear a mischievous smile in Stan's voice, which is only a stage whisper. I open one eye, sleepily remembering that I'm in Stan and Kyle's room after being unceremoniously banned from my own. I feel like I've been asleep for hours, but a glance at the clock tells me it is only just after midnight. That was the longest 20-minute nap ever. As I crack open my other eye, I realize why I feel so disoriented: the room is almost pitch dark save for the light from the computer monitor. The speakers fill the room with Bright Eyes, but I can still hear the boys' half-whispered exchange.

"Damn it, Stan, we _aren't alone._ Can't you keep it in your pants for one—ohh. That's it, you're gonna get it for that!"

"She's over there passed out dreaming about Kenny. Come on, Ky…unless you want me to wake her up and ask her to join."

"Dude! That's just…just…"

If I wasn't awake before, I am now. Keeping my body still, I turn my eyes to Kyle's bed, where I can see the boys' silhouettes backlit by the screensaver. Stan is straddling the redhead, clad only in boxers. He has Kyle pinned, one hand around each of his wrists. Contrary to his words, it doesn't look like Kyle is putting up much of a fight. Keeping his hands in place, Stan leans down and engages his partner in a very sexy kiss. As much as I'm tempted to stay, the rational part of my mind is screaming, "_I'm outta here!"_

I close my eyes and feign a stretch, trying to make sure my voice sounds sleep-soaked. "Hey, guys?" I open my eyes. At least they look embarrassed. I smirk, letting them know that I'm on to them. "I'm actually not as tired as I thought. I'm going to see if Butters wants to walk to Tweak Bros and get some cheesecake. I'll crash in his room. See you tomorrow, okay?" The lack of light doesn't hide the fact that both boys are blushing as I grab my bag and turn to wave. I smile to myself, but it's bittersweet. I'm not sure I can handle the cuteness right now.

The hallway is brightly lit, fluorescent bulbs ever vigilant. I lean against the wall and type out a text to Butters.

**-hey buddy you alone?**

The answer comes shockingly fast.

**-no:)**

Damn. I'm happy for him, but pissed that I am once again alone.

**-yay, have fun. details tomorrow or STFU!**

Tweak Bros is open all night, and I really am hungry, so I sit down and start to search through my bag for my wallet. Makeup bag, notebook, PSP, Scott Pilgrim graphic novel…where the hell is it? I let out a sharp "Fuck!" as I remember that I left it in my glove box after leaving Village Inn. My damn car is in the resident lot half a mile away…on the opposite side of campus from Tweak Bros. I start to shovel the detritus back in my bag, cursing the fact that I purchased my parking pass so late in the game and got a crappy lot assignment. I'm sliding the book into the side pocket when I feel rather than hear someone approach.

I look up to see a pair of worn black Chucks attached to legs encased in skinny jeans. I keep going, and when my eyes reach the ratty red hoodie, I can't help but smile. I lift my arms in a "help me up" gesture, and Kenny pulls me up directly into a hug.

"I feel like such a douchebag_." _

"Oh, please, don't even worry about it." My smile is audible; my face still buried in his neck. I know I'm forgiving him too easily, but I don't care.

"I think twelve hours late is some kind of record. I wasn't sure you would even be here, or want to talk to me, but I needed to apologize in person…"he trails off, breaking the hug but running his hands down my arms to twine his fingers with mine. "I'm a dickhead. And I'm sorry. I don't have an excuse."

"Well, you came at the perfect time now, so I forgive you. Come on, we have to go to my car to get my damn wallet so I can hit Tweak Bros. I'm starving."

-XXX-

"I don't think a café mocha with 'a pile of whipped cream' counts as food," Kenny laughs as we leave Tweak Bros. I lick a glob of whipped cream off the top of the fancy coffee and smile.

"Oh, come on…it has sugar, fat, and caffeine. There's not a single other thing I need. Food-wise, anyway."

"I swear, the only thing I have ever seen you eat is about half a slice of French toast, and I'm pretty sure you snuck it when I was in the bathroom, so I really didn't s_ee _anything."

"Sorry…I have this…thing about people watching me eat. My brother used to-" I'm cut off by Kenny grabbing my free hand and pulling me into his arms. I have to hold my arm out at a weird angle to keep the sloshing coffee cup from spilling scalding liquid all over my hand. He kisses the top of my head.

"I have an idea," he half-whispers.

"Okay, _you _are hyper. Did you drink a whole pot of Tweak's Black Eye blend before you came to see me?" Kenny's ADD act is so endearing that it makes my heart race; I realize that I haven't stopped smiling since I looked up to see him standing before me in the hallway.

"No, this is called being happy. Come on, there's something I want to show you."

-XXX-

The moonlight glints off the lake as fog rises from the surface, giving it a haunted appearance. The whole area is surrounded by evergreens, and a rickety wooden sign that has seen better days declares the area to be "Stark's Pond."

Kenny takes my hand and tugs gently. "Come on," he says with an impatient smile.

We skirt the lake until we are directly across from where we stood moments ago. The evergreens are thicker here, but we cut through them, coming to a stop at the base of what looks like a bigtooth maple. I tilt my head back and look up; a small structure among the branches catches my eye and my pulse quickens as I realize what it is.

I turn my attention back to Kenny and cock my head. "You know about my tree-climbing obsession? Or was this just a lucky guess?"

He shyly looks down at the ground and bounces on his toes. "I just…remembered that night we first met…" He looks up at me and grins. "You did jump down from out of that tree, so…I figured you wouldn't be opposed to checking out the old treehouse."

"You are officially, 100% forgiven for…whatever kept you from going with us today." I don't let him know that all it really took was him showing up to apologize, no matter how late he was.

From the treehouse, we can see the entire lake. The structure only has three actual walls, so I sit facing the open space and let my feet dangle over the edge. Fog ghosts dance restlessly across the water as the trees stand sentry. The air is so still, I can hear mine and Kenny's breathing. He breaks the silence.

"What were you doing out in the hallway anyway, when I came to find you?"

"Oh, that…ugh, when we got home from Village Inn, I found a note from my roommate, who finally decided tonight was the night for her first actual stay in the room. W_ith _a guy. She left a scrunchie on the door and everything. So Stan and Kyle invited me to stay with them, but when I dozed off they…" I wave my hand in the air to indicate that the rest is best left to his imagination. He laughs.

"Oh, wow, I am _so _sorry, if I had known-"

"No more apologies!" I hold my hands up in a "stop it" gesture. I try on an evil smirk. "You did miss a lot, though. Butters gave himself a sort of makeover, and Village Inn will probably never let us back in after the mess we made. Cartman left with Wendy, and I'm pretty sure Butters and Tweek are in Butters' room now." I pause. "And we missed _you._" _Well, _I _missed you, _I silently add.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-" Bravery possesses me and I make a move, tackling the blonde boy and shutting him up with a kiss. When I pull away, he smiles. "Is that what happens when I apologize? Because I can-" I cut him off again, just because I can. If he is shocked by my audacity, it doesn't show. I move even closer, thrilled at the idea of making out in a treehouse, but a Star Wars lightsaber sound effect intrudes upon the moment. Text message.

"Hold that thought," I say, reaching out and upending my bag to find the interrupting piece of technology. It's Kyle.

**- you ok? *embarrassed***

I respond:

**-treehouse with Kenny. more than ok. talk tomorrow.**

When I look up from my phone, Kenny is holding a sheet of paper, studying it in the moonlight. "What's this?" he asks.

I take it from his hands. It takes me a moment to recognize it, but when I do, I laugh. "It's from orientation at the dorm. It's a list of some icebreaker games they wanted us to play. One's a bunch of sentence stems; you're supposed to prompt the other person to complete them. And then this one is 'Two Truths and a Lie,' where you list off….well, two true things and one lie, and your partner has to guess which one is bullshit. Nobody did it though. I can't believe I still had that in my bag." I absentmindedly pass it back to Kenny, a bit put off by the sudden change in his priorities.

"Yeah." He pauses to finish reading the paper, then looks back at me. "Here…finish this one: 'I'm better than most people at…'"

I sigh in resignation; this is silly but I play along; the combination of caffeine and dopamine dancing my brain means I'd probably do anything for this boy right now. "Well…I guess I could say Karate. I'm a brown belt. So there. Your turn. You answer it."

"I guess…I'm better than most people at playing guitar." I smile. Okay, this is actually fun when it isn't forced on us by Mr. M'kay Mackey. I grab the paper, scanning for a good one.

"Okay. Finish this. 'I never…'"

Kenny laughs. "I never wake up on time."

I look down at my skirt and knee socks. "I never wear pants." We both realize what I've said at the same time, and break into laughter. I pass the sheet back to Kenny again.

"Why don't you tell me 'Two Truths and a Lie' now?"

I throw my head back and sigh in mock exasperation. "Fine." I look at him and think. "Okay. I'm going to chiropractic school after I graduate, I have a Thanatos tattoo on my lower back, I was born in a convent in Scotland."

"Well, you'd better show me the tattoo and give me a back rub, because there's no way-"

"Actually, the tattoo was the lie. I want it, I just haven't gotten around to it yet. But yeah, I'll give you a back rub…but you do know a chiropractor is totally different from a massage therapist…right?"

Kenny looks at me with wide eyes. "A convent? Really?"

I sigh. "Yes. A real convent. Do you really want to hear this?" He nods, never taking his eyes from mine. "Okay. I was born in a convent in Scotland. In Dumfries, to be exact. I was the product of a 40-year old married Irish woman. I was _not _the product of she and her husband. See where this is going? The conservative family sent her to a convent to deliver the baby, me, and made up some story about an illness, to avoid a scandal. Reputation, you know? I lived there until I was almost four years old. When my parents came to adopt me, I thought they were aliens. Until that day, I guess I assumed that everyone on Earth was either a nun or a priest. It took me a while to adjust to life in the States. I remember everything being…average. We lived in an average town, in an average house, and had an average lifestyle. It was gloriously average, until both my parents died in a car accident when I was eight. CPS put me in foster care, and I was only there a month when my biological half-brother, then 26, showed up from overseas, demanding legal guardianship. After all the legal stuff was complete, we moved to Alaska of all places and stayed there until he got a job in Portland. And then right before my eighteenth birthday, he died. The day I turned eighteen, I took possession of…an inheritance, and after I graduated I moved here. I came here because it sounded quaint and easy…I'm kind of under the impression that that may not be the case." I smile. "And honestly, I'm kind of surprised I shared all that…that must be the most fucked-up thing you've ever heard." It's official. I'm possessed, or obsessed, or some other word that may or may not rhyme but means "_this guy is like a drug, like some mix of ecstasy and truth serum."_

"Remind me someday to tell you the story of Cartman's paternity. Now there is a fucked-up story." Kenny squeezes my hand. It startles me; I can't remember how we got back to holding hands.

"Why am I not surprised?" Nothing about Cartman could be anything less than fucked-up.

"How did he…your brother…?"

"Overdose." The one-word answer is enough. He pulls me closer; I close my eyes. It's the first time I've said those words aloud to anyone who wasn't a doctor or a lawyer or funeral director or some other suit who made it his official business to know how Malcolm died.

"So…Thanatos. The personification of death…the death drive." I wonder for a moment at how I'm able to keep up with Kenny's constant changing of subjects, but the thought is laughable at best; I'm absolutely guilty of the same exact thing. I'm not entirely surprised he gets the reference; I know he's taking philosophy and psychology classes. "Yeah. I mean, I guess I have a dark side, but…I'm fascinated. At this point, it's almost like…death defines me. I have no idea who I really am. Anybody who ever had a real clue is gone. Like, permanently." I ache to change the subject, so I say nothing. I'll leave it to Kenny to move the conversation in another direction.

His face gets serious. "I wrote my college entrance essay about the effects that death can have on a child." I raise my eyebrows; Kenny smiles. "It's, ah…well, I mean, I got in, didn't I?"

_College entrance essay? _Suddenly, all I want is to get into his head, to learn things that he hasn't yet told me, and I'm impatient. I give my head a slight shake, willing myself to live in this moment. "You next, " I say, trying to clear my mind of the thoughts that are assaulting me. "Tell me about growing up in South Park."

Kenny leans back on his elbows and looks out and up at the sky. "Well, I know Cartman's fat ass likes to make fun and call me "trailer boy" but…" He trails off and ends with a shrug. "The funny thing is, I've never even lived in a trailer. Honestly, my family was probably too broke to even own one." I turn toward him a bit and watch his face as he speaks. He takes a breath and continues.

"Growing up, my family had nothing. I mean…nothing. We lived on food stamps and the occasional cash my dad made doing some odd job because he never had a regular one. As a kid, I used to take fucked-up dares for even just a dollar. I never knew anything else, never have known anything else, so yeah, being ridiculed all the time sucked but I never really bothered to compare myself to my friends or anything. I was a happy kid when my drunk-ass parents weren't fighting, even though I did get sick a lot. Then when my dad ran off with a Raisins girl three years ago, I kind of had to take over. My brother Kevin landed himself in jail and my little sister practically lives with her boyfriend—he's practically twice her age. So now…yeah, it's not much easier. I work part-time at the bookstore, but I give all my money to my mom. She cleaned up when my dad left; she's trying to get through cosmetology school. She's basically still just a kid. She was fourteen—_fourteen _when she had my brother, and got stuck with my dad. She was seventeen when she had me, and then Karen, my sister, came right after. It's like…not too late for her to start over at all." He glances at me, as if to gauge my reaction, flicking his eyes immediately back to the sky. When I don't say anything, he turns toward me completely. I don't know if I'm shocked or sad for him or just happy to be here. Or just thankful that for once, I don't feel like my strange upbringing automatically makes me a freak. A thousand different emotions well up inside me until I let loose an outburst of laughter. It's completely inappropriate, but I can't help it. It seems like ages pass before Kenny starts to laugh with me, and even though nothing was really funny, I get the feeling that we both "get it."

When my hysterics calm, I let out a shuddering sigh. I close the distance between us once more, and rest my head on his shoulder. I don't want this night to end, but it must be really late by now, and I'm starting to freeze.

"Ren, you're shivering. Here, take this." Kenny starts to remove his parka.

"No! Then you'll freeze! I'm fine," I respond. His offer reminds me that I still have a new parka for him in my car. "But…"

"You still don't have a home tonight, do you?"

"Ah, no. I have a car though," I say, half joking. Hell, at least it has heat.

"I have an idea, but…" He shakes his head as if to clear a thought. "Don't be silly. Let's go to my place. It's probably not even as fancy as the dorm, but it beats a car."

-XXX-

Kenny's house is a shabby-yet-clean two-story rental on the outskirts of South Park. In the dark I can see the identical homes on either side, their lawns littered with barbeque pits, children's toys, and random junk. I make sure to grab the Patagonia bag from my trunk before locking my car.

"Okay, follow me and try to be quiet. It's late so I don't want to turn any lights on - don't let go of my hand." We creep up the stairs, me silent-laughing at the ridiculous situation. Well, it's ridiculous to me for some reason; I feel stupidly happy and I'm not sure I should be quite so amused. We walk up carpeted stairs; it's some bad early-80s shag that looks okay but it isn't anything I would want to sit on or touch with my bare feet. We enter a room at the end of the hallway, and he closes the door, letting go of my hand to cross the room and flip on a lamp. His floor is weatherbeaten-looking hardwood, clean but in need of finishing. I can still see the small holes left behind by what I assume were staples holding down carpet; the mental image of him ripping up carpet to expose the wood floor makes me feel an odd breed of spastic excitement. I bend down to remove my boots and sit the bag on the floor by the dresser.

"What's in the bag?" I try to play innocent, but my giddy smile ruins that façade. I hold it out, trying to contain my excitement.

"Well, everyone went crazy shopping today…you didn't get to go, so…yeah." I suddenly feel shy. My smile falters as I remember Butters' words. _Please don't let him take this the wrong way. _

"Is this a…oh, my God…" he sits on the bed, admiring the new parka. I can't tell anything from his facial expression, so I try to make him laugh.

"I mean…orange isn't really your color…" I bite my tongue and wait. I'm rewarded with a half-laugh.

"Why…why are you so nice to me?"

I cock my head and study him for a moment, before crossing the room, extinguishing the lamp on the way. When I reach the bed, I put my hands on his shoulders and lean over so my face is inches from his. "Isn't that obvious?"

Without answering, and before I can form another thought, Kenny pulls me up and onto the bed. I find myself lying on my back, looking up through the darkness into his big blue eyes. He reaches up and brushes a lock of hair away from my face, letting his hand trace my cheek and then my neck before it falls to rest on my shoulder. He is on his hands and knees in such a way that this is the only place our bodies touch. I long to reach up and pull him down to me, bring us together in full-body contact, but I stay still until he leans down and touches his lips to mine. With that gentlest of touches, I get greedy; I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer, not wanting to feel the space between us anymore. He smells like outside and peppermint gum and some spicy boy cologne I can't identify. Our kiss deepens as I run a hand up and down his back, lifting his shirt so that I can touch bare skin. He breaks away for a moment to take it off entirely, and I use the time to discard my sweater, leaving only my camisole and bra. When our bodies meet again, I'm dizzy with desire. I reach up and tangle my hands in his hair, returning his hungry kiss. Feeling audacious, I reach down to unbutton his jeans. Before I can succeed, though, he takes my hand and twines his fingers with mine as he moves it to a place somewhere north of my head. He grabs my other hand and pins me to the bed so I'm trapped. My sigh of pleasure becomes a sound of surprise as he breaks the kiss and sits up so he is looking down at me.

"Hey," I start. "What's wrong?" _Fuck. The stupidest question in the world, again._

Kenny runs his hands through his hair and looks down, then back at me. He moves so that his back is against the wall and offers me his hand; I take it and he pulls me into a sitting position. I wrap the blanket around my shoulders to stave off the chill I feel now that we are no longer pressed together. "Nothing's _wrong._ Everything is…perfect. I just…" He sighs. "I used to be…I used to pretty much sleep with anybody I could find. Guy, girl, didn't matter. I was just in a bad place, I guess, and…well, as I'm sure you've heard, I was known as kind of the male slut of South Park." I start to understand. Once again I remember Wendy's words at Bennigan's, and it begins to make sense. Kenny continues. "I just…I don't want this to be like that. I put all that behind me, and the last thing I want is for you to think that I'm still that person. This isn't just…_that _to me, you know?"

As wrong as it is, I can't help but feel even more attracted to him as he staggers through his speech. I take a breath to calm myself; what he is saying is probably the sweetest thing any guy has ever said to me, but my body hasn't caught up with that yet. I'm not sure I trust myself with words right now, so I just reach out and pull Kenny into a hug. At first he stiffens, but then relaxes in my arms as if he understands my response. As much as I don't want to let go of his embrace, I'm exhausted. I stretch out on the bed, tugging Kenny's hand in a "lie down with me" gesture. The last thing I remember before giving in to sleep is his lips on my forehead and his voice whispering something I can't quite make out.

-XXX-

_Black hair streaked with grey, a spilled glass of red wine, the lingering odor of cigarettes as his hand spiders across my face. I refuse to cry, pretending instead to sleep. Fiona whines insistently from her bed in the corner and I ache to comfort her, but this time, I won't let on that I'm awake. I count my breaths, making sure to exhale a few counts longer than I inhale. This won't go on forever…_

I open my eyes in a panic, unsure where I am. The dream surrounds me; I almost expect to see my old dresser across from the bed and Fiona in her corner. When I look to my left, I see Kenny, face obscured by the pillow, and remember. I sigh with relief, but it is short-lived. I have to pee, and I have no idea where the hell the bathroom is. I climb over him carefully, praying that he won't wake up. He murmurs something unintelligible and rolls over, sprawling across the whole bed. _Great._ The window is still dark; a glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand tells me it is just after 5:00. Once again, I've only been asleep a short time. I pull the door open as quietly as I can, and feel my way into the hallway. My eyes are fairly adjusted to the darkness, and I see an open doorway across the hall and to the left. As I get closer, I see that it is, indeed, a bathroom. I flick the light switch on and close the door behind me.

A scratching sound startles me, and I open the door again, craning my head around to listen. A full minute goes by and the house remains silent. I must be hearing things. I turn to the sink to wash my hands and get a look at myself in the mirror. I have an epic case of "I-just-got-laid" hair, which is funny, since I didn't. I run my hands through it, trying to free the tangles, but I'm met with resistance. I lean over the sink so that I can get a closer look.

_Oh, I am going to kill him._

Embedded in my hair, about six inches from my scalp, is a blue mass that is unmistakably peppermint gum. About one-quarter of my hair, one entire side of my head, is tangled up in it. In my half-asleep, sleep-deprived state of mind, I see only one solution. I grab a pair of scissors from the counter and poise them at the ready. I'm pretty sure if I wasn't half asleep and hung over on hormones and dopamine I would not be so okay with this, but I just shrug at my reflection. Unable to watch myself cut off about 18 inches of hair, I close my eyes. _It's only hair. It'll grow back. _I take a breath and squeeze my eyes tighter, ready to go, when a hand grabs mine. My eyes fly open and I get a glimpse of a tattooed wrist. I drop the scissors and turn to face whoever just stopped me from my impromptu haircut.

The girl before me is dressed in leggings and a red Old 97s baby tee. She is skinny but has a nice set of breasts, and if she is taller than me, it is only because of the two inches added by her black sequin flip-flops. Her red hair is a more orange shade than mine, and it only comes to her shoulders. Short bangs frame perfectly-shaped eyebrows. Her face looks young, but it's an aged young, like she has been through a lot and seen even more. She looks at me with eyes I can only describe as navy blue diluted with mint green, and finally speaks.

"I can only guess how that got there, but I know for sure I can get it out without you losing any of that hair." I'm speechless and confused. "I'm guessing you're Ren, then?" I nod stupidly. She smiles and holds up a finger in a "wait a second" gesture, then turns and walks down the hallway. I turn my back to the sink and lean against it, thinking. This must be Kenny's sister Karen. He mentioned that she practically lived with some guy but didn't really say whether she still stayed here or not. Oh, well.

She returns, toting a jar of generic peanut butter. I look at it suspiciously, wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into. She lets out a soft laugh.

"Trust me." Karen opens the jar and scoops out a small handful of the goopy stuff, and applies it to the wad of gum in my hair. I can't believe my eyes when it starts to just…liquefy and slip right out of the tangles. She repeats this process a few times until the gum is all out, and then closes the jar. I stand rooted to the spot, open-mouthed. "Here, let's rinse that out." She points to the bathtub and I kneel in front of it as she starts the water. I can't help but laugh at the whole situation; as awkward as I feel right now, everything is just too funny. Karen starts to laugh, too, as I bend my head under the stream of water. She stands behind me and leans over to grab the shampoo. I'm enjoying the silly girl-bonding moment; we are a tangle of legs and arms and I'm blinded by my mess of wet, peanut-butter soaked hair. I laugh even harder when I move a wet clump of strands out of the way of my right eye and open it to see Kenny standing in the doorway with a befuddled look on his face. He watches for a moment before speaking.

"Ren? _Mom? _What are you doing?"

**End note: Ha-ha, sort of a cliffhanger, but yeah. Lots of fluff here, but I need to pick up the action so the next few chapters will be full of it. Really. And I know the title is crazy since it isn't really a Friday, but yeah. **


	8. Super Baby

**A/N: Again we start right where we left off. Stuff starts moving in this chapter, though, so yeah. Still a lot of fluff, but more drama. Or almost-drama. **

**There is some drug use and drug references in this chapter, so if that freaks you out please don't read this. But you're a South Park fan, so I'm guessing it won't. **

**I don't own South Park or any of the songs mentioned.**

**Big thanks to angeliczara and to all my watchers/subscribers. This is fun for me no matter what, but it's great to know others are enjoying!**

I stir the coffee in front of me, even though it's only black. My still-wet hair is piled on top of my head, secured with a clip, and I'm wearing a pair of Carol's jeans and a Terrance and Phillip t-shirt that Kenny still had from fourth grade. _Okay, so for once I'm not wearing a skirt. The world won't end. _I could get used to this pants thing. I can now sit cross-legged in the chair without fear of flashing anyone.

I suppose that under normal circumstances I should feel completely mortified right now. When I realized that my hair's savior was not Kenny's sister Karen, but his mom Carol, a million thoughts scrambled through my mind, crashing into each other and fighting for vocalization. I mean, there I was, with my peanut-butter-covered head under the bathtub faucet, unable to run and hide. I had just spent the last ten minutes removing gum from my hair, oblivious to the fact that I had been outed for sleeping over. The strange thing was, Carol didn't seem to mind at all. She almost seemed…happy. Not having had what most would call a "normal" upbringing, I wasn't sure at all what kind of etiquette this situation called for.

Turns out I had nothing to worry about. After Kenny sleepily found us laughing and playing hair salon in the bathroom, he went off to find me a dry t-shirt and start making coffee. As I combed the tangles out of my hair, Carol finally introduced herself.

"_Well, now that we're past that catastrophe…I'm Carol." She smiles at me, waiting for me to speak, but sleep deprivation and sheer embarrassment steal my voice. "I've heard a lot about you—he really can't shut up about you. I never thought I'd meet you like this, but then again…" The words give way to a laugh. I finally speak._

"_Really? He…told you about me?" She meets my eyes and cocks her head at me, studying my features. "I mean…oh, wow, I just sound like an-"_

_She cuts me off. "He did. And I can see why."_

I shake my head to bring myself back to the present. I have gone over that conversation about twenty times in the past half-hour, but I still can't completely figure it out.

"Ren? You've been stirring that coffee for about two minutes, and…it's _black." _Kenny smirks at me. Carol comes back in the room, carrying a huge plate of toaster waffles and a giant container of maple syrup. I'm starving; I need to get over my weird people-watching-me-eat phobia and just enjoy some waffles. When Carol sits, she pours a puddle of syrup on her plate, takes three waffles, and starts to eat them by tearing pieces off and dipping them into the puddle. No silverware required. Okay, I can do this. I mimic her and start tearing a waffle into tiny pieces. Kenny looks surprised, but doesn't say a word. He only offers me a smile that makes me wish we were still upstairs, alone.

"I'm about halfway finished. I'm actually done with the "school' part but now I have to do so many hours of supervised work. It's a lot of giving old ladies tight perms and cutting outdated mullets into office-appropriate styles, but I still love it." Carol is animated as she tells me about cosmetology school. I can't get over how friendly she is, how easy-going, but Kenny was right—she really is still just a kid. She doesn't look as young as a teenager, now that I'm not half-asleep, but she still doesn't look her age.

Kenny appears to be a strange mix of impatient and amused. He is sitting with his left arm on the table, left hand cradling his right elbow, chin in right hand, staring aimlessly at something (or nothing) on the table near his hand. Carol tells me a story about when Kenny and the boys tried to start a boy band in fourth grade. I tell her a brief version of my childhood story, leaving out the recent death of my brother—that can come out later. She asks me if nuns really hit kids with rulers and I laugh. When I look back at my plate, I realize that I have inhaled four toaster waffles. I look at Kenny and tell him I have to get to class.

Carol gives me a hug as I leave. "You're welcome to come over anytime—no, _please _come back soon," she says with a smile. I assure her I will and thank her again as Kenny and I walk out the door.

As I'm unlocking the passenger side door, Kenny presses me against the side of the car and surprises me with a kiss that makes me again wish we were somewhere alone and not getting ready to go to class. He pulls away long before I'm ready to break contact, but offers me a conspiratorial smile that almost makes up for it. "I knew the two of you together would be trouble." He now seems ecstatic that Carol and I get along so well. I turn up Broken Social Scene, so Kenny remains quiet for the drive, but I can't help but notice that the smile never leaves his lips.

-XXX-

The hallway of mailboxes at Blair hall is always bustling with activity. Students excitedly open their boxes six days a week, expectant eyes glittering as they peep inside to look for letters and small packages. I usually walk right past this part of the hallway; I don't have anybody back home to write...wherever "back home" is. I have nobody to tell about how I've made fast friends and even faster enemies; nobody to ask for advice about Kenny or my friend Butters or my conflicts with my almost-friend Cartman; nobody to whom I can send contrived letters about how "I'm having fun but classes are keeping me busy!" Most of the time, it doesn't bother me, but after this morning's events, I definitely feel a familiar ache when I think of my lack of family. This emptiness, combined with my pathetic amount of sleep and a hormone hangover, hits me with a sucker punch of exhaustion, and I have to sit down. I perch on the arm of a sofa across from the bank of mailboxes and put my head in my hands.

"R-ren?" I look up to see Butters' concerned and confused eyes. "Wh-what are you wearing? And what's wrong?"

I look down at my outfit, momentarily disconcerted by his question. "Oh! Hey, Buddy. The outfit is a long story. And nothing's wrong." I try on a smile. "I'm just…so tired." I try to stifle a yawn and fail. "I just sat through three classes on a grand total of about two hours of sleep." I stand and stumble; Butters grabs my arm to steady me.

"Well, come upstairs. I-ah, I'm done with school for the day. I'll make you some tea and then m-maybe if you want to hear about it, ah, I'll…" Butters trails off, blushing bright pink.

"Oh, I completely forgot! Tweek and Craig left fast last night to meet you guys at the movie and then…wow, was that really only _last night?"_

Butters nods as his grin widens. I let him take my by the hand and lead me to the staircase. I can't believe I forgot about his "I'm not alone" text message. I let the idea of sleep fade away; it looks like once again, I have more pressing things on my agenda. Somewhere in my weary brain, a neuron fires: _Even though I've only been here a short time, I've made some great friends. _They _are now my family. _The realization cheers me; I feel slightly energized.

Five flights of stairs and a trek down the hallway later, I'm lying on Butters' bed, propped on my elbows while he is sitting next to me, attempting to put my hair in tiny braids. It half-dried while it was twisted up in the clip, so it isn't cooperating.

"Um…w-why does your hair smell kinda like peanut butter, Ren?"

I look over my shoulder. "Well, our friend Kenny likes to fall asleep while chewing peppermint gum, and it ended up in my hair. Peanut butter apparently gets gum right out of hair." I watch as Butters' big blue eyes widen. "No, the story is not as exciting as it sounds. Trust me. I want to hear _your_ story…so talk."

Butters stops braiding my hair and jumps up off the bed to reach for something on his desk. He offers it to me; it's a ticket stub for "Final Destination 5." I make a confused face. _I never even knew there was a 2, much less 3, or 4. _He cocks his head and raises his eyebrows expectantly, but I still don't get what he is implying.

"I don't remember a single second of this movie," he finally says.

I hand the ticket stub back to him and make a disgusted face. "Umm…that's probably a good th-" I finally understand. "Oh my God, _Butters, _you mean Tweek…?"

Butters looks down and rubs his knuckles together. "W-well, yeah. I mean, him and Craig showed up as we were goin' in and he kinda ignored me, but he made sure he was sittin' next to me an' all." He looks up and laughs. "He made Clyde move seats even. Boy, Clyde was so mad 'cause he said he always sits next to the wall, but Craig got him to move. Once the movie started and-and it got all dark, Tweek grabbed my hand and before the previews were even over we were kissing. W-we ended up leavin; and comin' back here."

"So…?"

"Well, you know Tweek, he got all nervous so we ended up just making coffee and looking through my music collection and playing video games."

I jump up and give Butters a hug. I can't help but be a girl right now; it's just too cute. "You guys are so freaking cute together! Did you at least get a kiss goodnight?" I sit back down on the bed.

Butters blushes even more, if that's possible. "I-it was more like a kiss good morning, but yeah." His smile is so big that his eyes are practically closed. He reaches up and rubs the back of his head as his smile slowly morphs into a disgruntled expression. "But you know, now I'm all confused. I, ah, like Tweek a lot but I feel bad 'cause I still get sad about Eric."

"Did you guys ever…?"

"Well, n-no, but…I-I've liked Eric since we were nine years old. It's silly 'cause I know Eric's straight an' all, but just as soon as I'd decide to give up on him he'd do something that would make me think he was a little bi-curious and I'd get confused again. N-now I'm not stupid, Ren, an' I know I don't want to do anything to hurt Tweek…but I feel like a part of me will always lo-love Eric."

I reach out my hand, pull Butters on to the bed so that he is seated next to me, and look him in the eye. "And that's okay. You might always feel that way. If you love someone, no matter what happens, there's always going to be a small part of you that…does. But it doesn't mean you can't fall madly in love with someone else." I smile at him and can't help but ruffle his hair.

"You know, y-you're right. I just hope that Tweek gets over bein' so nervous. I mean, I kinda like bein' the one to take care of him, but I-I'm not exactly the most…experienced guy. Bu-but that's okay, I get kinda nervous too and it's weird, but I like it! Tweek's comin' over again tonight, too, so I gotta get to decidin' what we're gonna do."

"Well have fun, you. Don't forget, you still owe me a night out dancing." I slide off the bed. "I'm so tired, I'm not sure I'll even make it down to my room. I'd love to stay but I need a serious nap. Call me tomorrow?" I really do need sleep, but I have something pressing to do before I let myself pass out.

"Sure thing, Ren!" Butters opens the door for me; always the little gentleman. "Y'know, I just thought of somethin'. My parents paid for me to have a single room 'cause they didn't want me sleepin' in a room with another boy, but that kinda failed in the worst way, didn't it?"

-XXX-

As soon as I get inside, I close the door and make a beeline for my desk. I rummage through the drawer and on the shelf until I find my prize: the student directory. I sit sideways in the chair and notice something odd. Lexus's side of the room is completely bare. Her pictures, her books, her blanket, all her stuffed animals…gone. I shake my head rapidly and let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. I should know by now that nothing in this town is "normal." I'm curious as to where my roommate and her stuff went, but right now, I need to complete my task before I fall asleep in this chair. I find the correct page in the directory and run my finger down it, stopping at a name. After unlocking my phone, I dial the number and listen as it rings.

"Hello?"

"Um, hi. Bebe?"

"Ye-eah." She answers hesitantly.

"This is, uh, Ren." I feel strange; even though Bebe and I are the kind of friends who can hang out and have a good time in a group, we've not yet reached the level of calling each other or hanging out one-on-one.

"Oh, hey, Ren. What's up?"

I take a deep breath. "You work at the Student Records office, right?"

"Yep, shitty boring work for shitty pay. Why?"

"Look, I know this is a huge favor to ask, but I don't suppose you could get a hold of someone's application essay…could you?"

Bebe sighs. "Well…I guess I…could, but that breaks every rule we have. I'm not even supposed to know that we have access to that information. The job sucks and all, but if I get caught doing something like that I'll get canned, and I'm pretty sure Raisins won't hire me back after I threw a plate of hot wings on Sarah Palin that time she visited town."

I try not to laugh at the visual and fail. "You th-threw…? Oh, wow." Bebe laughs. I need to focus so I don't get sidetracked. I can't believe I'm about to offer a bribe, but I need to get my hands on Kenny's essay. For some reason, I just _know _I'll understand him better once I read it. "Ugh, Bebe, I'm pretty desperate. Does the name Christian Louboutin mean anything to you?" I know she has a shoe fetish; why not tempt her with the hottest shoes on earth? I hear her breath catch.

"Seriously?" she squeals. "Okay…yes! I'll do it! But I don't work again until Sunday, is that okay?" The wait will suck, but I tell her what I need and finally, finally lay down.

-XXX-

Sunday is my least-favorite day of the week, next to Tuesday. It's just a quiet, lazy day, which never fails to depress me. Everyone is either busy with homework or working or out visiting family, and the silence of Blair hall presses at my ears. Even blasting Gorillaz through my headphones doesn't help; I can _feel _the silence. I need to find a way to shake my restlessness.

I jump up from my chair, tossing Emmanuelle on the desktop. I find a running skirt and pullover in my bottom drawer and grab a pair of striped tube socks from my basket of just-washed laundry. After locating my left sneaker under the bed, I grab my keys and plug my earbuds into my phone. I'm halfway down the hall before I realize I've forgotten a beanie.

"Shit!" I turn around and jog toward my door, suddenly impatient to get out and start running. Once my head is covered, I make a mental checklist to ensure that I'm fully equipped. Satisfied, I lock the door a second time and jog back down the hallway.

I make it down one-and-a-half flights of stairs before nearly crashing into the Resident Life Director, Mr. Mackey. He stops and starts to talk, so I pull the earbuds from my ears.

"Renata, right? I was just coming to look for you, m'kay? I have some news for you, m'kay, I need you to take a moment to come to my office…m'kay?"

I heave a sigh and follow him; it's not like I can say "no, I'm late for a class." I wonder what the hell is going on now. I'm suddenly frustrated; it's always something around here. I follow his huge head down the stairs and into his cramped office. He gestures to the chair across from his as he takes a seat and uses one finger to push his glasses back up on his nose.

"Well, you probably noticed that your roommate, um, Lexus, m'kay, is gone. She came to see me Thursday morning, m'kay, and signed some paperwork to sever her housing contract. Apparently she found a part in a Vegas show, m'kay. What this means, m'kay, is that you have a choice now, m'kay. You can pay an additional fee and keep the room as a single, or you can be put in the roommate pool and be paired with another girl…m'kay?"

So that's where she went. I don't even have to think about my decision. "I'll do it, I'll pay for the single. Just tell me where and when to go and I'll pay."

"Well, you can sign the contract here, m'kay, and the fee will be applied to your student account, which you can pay at the Registrar's office tomorrow, m'kay?"

I scrawl my name and escape, daydreaming about having a room all to myself.

-XXX-

The GPS program on my phone tells me I've run nine miles, but that can't be right. I feel like I've only been running for forty minutes. I double-check the time and see that I have indeed been on the move for about an hour and twenty minutes. I'm hungry and thirsty, and suddenly, a smoothie sounds amazing. I decide to change before I go to Tweak Bros, though, so I take the stairs two at a time and skip down the hallway. Running always improves my mood. I'm mentally singing along with Matthew Sweet, daydreaming about Kenny, so I don't immediately see Stan waving at me from the end of the hall.

"Ren! Hey! I was just looking for you." Stan is making a face that I can only describe as "looking to cause trouble." His black hair is covered with a grey beanie, and he's wearing a green shirt that says "pants" on it in white lettering. His fashion choices never fail to amuse me.

"Hey, I just got done running…what's up?" I unzip the little pocket on my skirt and take out my key. Stan responds as I open my door.

"I was wondering if you wanted to…holy shit, dude, what happened in here?" Stan looks at the empty left half of the room.

"Oh, yeah, Lexus apparently got a job as a dancer in Vegas, so she moved out. This is all mine now. Here, help me push the beds together into one huge bed." Stan walks to the other end of the bed and helps me scoot it out and sideways, so that the head is against Lexus's old wall and the right side is next to the desk. We move my current bed next to it, so I have one huge bed on one side of the room and a big open space on the other. "Thanks! This is much better."

Stan sits on the giant bed and lays back, staring at the ceiling. "This bed is so cool…you're lucky to have a single now."

I shoot him a look. "You know, you and Kyle could do the same thing in your room, I mean-"

"Nah, Ky would never go for it. He would call it a distraction or some such shit. Speaking of which, I came to find you because I was going to take a trip to the old library basement bathroom and I thought you would want to come along." He pulls a joint out of his pocket and holds it up like a prize on a game show.

"You? I would never have suspected. What are you doing with t_hat?_" I laugh because I'm half-teasing him.

"Cartman was over showing off his iPad earlier. It just kind of…fell out of his backpack when he wasn't paying attention." His expression and tone of voice clarify that "fell out" means "I took it when he wasn't looking." The dark-haired boy's big blue eyes widen and his voice takes on a pleading tone. "Come on, I don't want to go alone. And don't be so surprised, it's Kyle that's the 'good one' and even he's experimented. Remind me to tell you about when his family moved to San Francisco-"

"Okay, okay. Just…play a game or something while I change." I toss my phone to him and grab my clothes and shower stuff. "The passcode is 5656; check out the "World of Goo" game. I'll only be twenty minutes, I swear."

-XXX-

The "old library basement bathroom" isn't any older than anything else on this campus, but It earned the nickname due to its decrepit appearance. Janitors have been neglecting it since day one, probably out of fear of all the smokers and stoner kids that hid out there in lieu of going to class. Kids use it when they want to smoke a bowl without worrying about getting busted, and since they hang out there after getting high, the stalls are covered in epic graffiti. Stan lights the joint and gets it started before handing it to me.

I'm definitely not a stoner kid; in fact, I'm more a fitness buff than anything, but I do indulge on occasion. The familiar feeling hits me fast, and my next thought is inexplicably funny. "Wow, Cartman gets good shit," I laugh. Stan responds in kind. I notice a stylized drawing of a Power Ranger inside one of the stalls, and motion to Stan to come and look. Under the drawing are the words "Power Ranger from HELL!" When I point this out, Stan and I nearly fall to the floor laughing. It's funnier than it should be. He steps out of the stall, grabs my bag off the sink, and starts to look through it.

"Hey, pass that back over here," I say, indicating the joint and not caring that he is rifling through my purse. He hands it to me with his right hand, eyes and left hand still in my bag. As I'm inhaling, he utters an excited sound and holds up a Sharpie as if brandishing a tiny sword. "Ooh, ooh, give it!" I snatch the marker from his hand and walk over to a blank space on the wall. I draw one word on the wall in large letters, the three middle letters larger and in uppercase, so that it looks like this:

**beLIEve**

When I finish the last "e" I step back and cock my head to admire my work.

"Whoa, dude." Stan sounds amused. I turn my head and see him eyeing my word.

"Yeah," I say. "In every 'believe,' there's a lie." I notice that he is still holding my bag, and start to laugh. It takes him a moment to realize what has me cracking up, but when he looks down and sees the purse hanging from his shoulder, he starts to laugh and hands it back to me.

"I have a question," he says. I wait. "What's with the huge DJ headphones? I saw you with earbuds earlier, but you usually have these…giant…" he breaks off into hysterics and tries to mime the giant headphones by cupping his hands and waving them next to his ears.

"Oh, I love those. One, they just look kick-ass. And two? When I'm wearing earbuds, I'm telling most of the world to leave me the fuck alone. For some reason, though, it doesn't fully work—people still try to talk to me. The giant headphones are kind of like…a big middle finger, you know?"

The _Legend of Zelda _theme starts to play at the same moment my lightsaber text alert sounds. Stan and I share a confused glance before simultaneously reaching for our phones.

"It's Butters," I say at the same time as he is saying, "It's Kyle." I angle my phone so he can see it and he does the same for me. The text message on our screens is the same:

-**Tweek is in Hell's Pass. Please come. **

-XXX-

I hate the smell of hospitals. No matter where you go, whether it's New York City or South Park or Tahiti, the local hospital is drenched in the same odor. The smell of a hospital only evokes bad memories and fear, and I'm positive that I'm not the only one who feels that way.

After running from the library to his car, Stan and I grabbed some strong coffee in an attempt to sober up and sped to Hell's Pass, trying to distract each other on the way. Even talk about Kyle and Kenny couldn't keep us occupied, so by the time we pulled into the parking lot, we were both worried sick about Tweek. When we found the waiting area near his room with the help of the information desk, we were greeted by Butters, Wendy, Cartman, Kyle, and Craig. Nobody had any news, so we all sat in uncomfortable chairs and wrung our hands or flipped through old magazines. That was forty-five minutes ago.

Kyle jumps out of his chair. "It's been like an hour! Dammit, what the hell is wrong with these people; they won't even tell us anything!"

"Wh-where are Tweek's mom and dad?" Butters looks like he is trying not to cry. He keeps alternating between hitting his fists together and swiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Craig speaks up for the first time. "They're in Phoenix at a coffee expo. I called them and they're trying to get a flight home."

Butters finally lets the tears win. I go kneel by his side and put my arm around his waist. "What happened, Buddy?"

"I-I don't know. We w-went to Shakey's with Eric and Wendy, and before the pizza even came, Tweek ha-had a p-panic attack. Like, worse than usual. He r-really couldn't breathe, and I had to c-call an ambulance and everything!"

I stand and lean over to kiss him on the forehead. "I'm sure he's okay, Buddy. Do you need anything? I'm going to find a bottle of water." Butters shakes his head no. I turn to ask everyone else if they want any vending machine junk. Only Craig answers in the affirmative, asking me to look for some saltine crackers _Saltine crackers? _I grab my bag but don't make it out of the waiting area; a short, pudgy doctor steps in the room and looks down at the clipboard in his hand.

"Are you here with Tweek Tweak?" We all nod and mumble affirmations. "You can see him now. He is stable and lucid. He's going to be fine, but we'd like to keep him overnight. Mr. Tweak had a reaction to the combination of caffeine, Ritalin, and cocaine in his system."

_Cocaine? _Tweek drinks gallons of coffee and takes Ritalin for his ADD, but he would never do cocaine. He's already twitchy and hyper enough. I frown in confusion and look at Stan and Kyle; Stan's expression matches mine while Kyle is frowning in anger. The doctor continues.

"The tox screen indicates that Mr. Tweak only ingested a small amount of cocaine, but combined with his condition and the other stimulants in his system, it became a catalyst for a severe panic attack." You may all go visit him now." The doctor turns and waddles down the hallway, no doubt on his way to the next patient's family or friends.

We start to gather our jackets and bags, but a choking sound from the corner of the room makes us pause. We all turn our heads to find the source. Cartman is looking down, coughing into his hands.

"Are you okay, Eric?" Wendy pats him on the back. He continues making the strange choking sound and hunches into himself even further. When he takes a breath, his body starts shaking, and Wendy steps back.

"God damn it, Eric, what did you do?" Cartman straightens and removes his hands from his face, uncovering the real cause of his strange choking sounds. What we mistook for a coughing or crying fit was stifled laughter.

"You guys, I thought it would be…funny. I meant to put it in Butters' 7-up so that they'd both…they'd both…" he has to pause to regain his composure. When he looks up, six pairs of eyes are glaring at him. "I figured they'd have fun being all crazy together. I didn't realize I put it in Tweek's drink; I'm not that stupid, I wouldn't do _that _on purpose."

Kyle crosses his arms and deepens his frown. "Cartman, that's the dumbest thing you've ever done…this week. Get the fuck out of here."

Wendy utters a disgusted "ugh" and crosses the room to stand next to Butters. Butters looks stunned. I just shake my head as Craig flashes Cartman his middle finger.

Stan points to the door. "Just go home, Cartman. Nobody here wants to see you right now. You're lucky we don't call Barbrady, but he'd just fuck this all up worse." With that, we all head to Tweek's room. As we walk away, we can hear Cartman whining, "Come on, you guys! I didn't mean it. I was just trying to make Butters have some fun. Butters? You guyyyyys!"

Tweek looks tiny in the hospital bed. He has obviously been sedated a bit, but he perks up when he sees us. Butters runs to his side and takes his hand. Stan, Craig, and Kyle stand at the foot of the bed while Wendy and I go to his other side.

After we all talk for a few minutes, a nurse sticks her head in the door and tells us that it's time for Tweek to rest. I smooth back his messy hair and then look over at Butters. "You stay as long as you want. I'll wait in the waiting room and drive you home." I look at the other boys. "Stan, will you get a ride with Kyle and leave your car here for Butters and I?" Stan nods. Butters pulls the nurse into the corner to ask if he can stay a little bit longer as I give Tweek a kiss on the forehead and motion to everyone else to follow me. We say our goodbyes in the hallway, and I walk back to the waiting room. Thankfully, Cartman is nowhere to be found.

Even though it is only a little after eight, I start to doze. I'm half-dreaming about nuns that morph into giant penguins when the sound of the B-52's singing "Topaz" lifts me into the real world. I grab my phone; it takes me a minute to recognize Bebe's number.

"'Lo?" It's obvious I've been napping.

"Ren? It's Bebe. Listen, I got Kenny's essay for you, but there's something you should know. Kenny's not really a student here."

"What do you mean? He goes to class—I've seen him. He talks about his philosophy class all the time, I don't…" I'm still in half-asleep land, so Bebe's words don't make sense.

"Yeah, I mean, he applied, got accepted, and enrolled, but never paid his tuition. So he can go to the classes and just kind of sit in the back and…learn or whatever, as long as nobody notices him, but right now he's not actually a student and won't ever get any credit. He has until…" she pauses and I hear her shuffling some papers. "..um, 10am tomorrow to pay a balance of $6017.27 or he won't get any credit for any of the classes he is, um, sneaking into this semester."

"Oh, wow, shit. That's…" I shake my head even though I know nobody can see me. "Can you just slide the essay under my door? I'm at Hell's Pass waiting for Butters. He's visiting Tweek. It's been an interesting day."

"No problem. Yeah, Wendy texted me. She is super pissed at Fatass. We're going for drinks if you want to come."

"I would, but after I take Butters home, I have to do homework and then crash. Drink one for me, though."

We hang up and I lift my feet up on the chair, bending my knees to rest my chin on them. Butters finds me asleep in this position twenty minutes later. After he assures me that Tweek is okay, I give him Stan's keys and let him drive home.

-XXX-

"I need to, uh, pay a fee for a single room assignment?" The girl at the window in the registrar's office gives me a bored look. "Renata Kinloch, Blair Hall 378. Mr. Mackey should have faxed over the paperwork earlier this morning."

"Oh, yeah…here it is. Okay, for the remainder of the year the single room will cost an additional…$2300. "

"Okay. Um, can I also m-make a payment to someone else's student account?" She eyes me suspiciously. "It's for Kenneth McCormick. He's…" I trail off. The less I say, the better.

"O-kay." She hits a few keys, long fake nails clacking with each letter. She frowns at her computer screen. "His balance is-"

"$6017.27. I'll pay that and the room charge with this." I hand her my credit card and driver's license. I just need a different receipt-"

"Obviously," she snaps. Wow. Who pissed in her coffee? She slides the card through the machine and hands me a receipt. I sign it and push it back in her direction. She doesn't say "thank you" or "have a great day" or anything, offering instead a scowl. I am tempted to pull a Craig, but I just turn and walk away.

As I walk out the door into the sunny Monday morning, I can't help thinking, "_I hope I've done the right thing."_

**End note: So…this is turning into a novel, for real. I'm sure you can tell that some shit's about to hit the fan, but it isn't even the main conflict of the story. Wow. I'm long-winded, I guess…so if you're still reading, **_**thank you. **_**I have most of the rest already written; it's just a matter of editing and organizing. I wanted to put more in this chapter but it was already loooooong. I'll try to have the next one up tomorrow. **

**And I know, my pairings are cracky, but I like to push the envelope that way. I thinks Butters and Tweek would be a great pair. It would give poor Butters a chance to be the more dominant one (at least part of the time) and Tweek is just so darn cute he'd pair with anyone. It hurt to imagine him all sad in a hospital. I think I need to write a Tweek story next. I'd love to pair him with Kenny. But we'll see…**

**And thanks. Again. **


	9. Hallelujah

**A/N: Again we start right where we left off. It's still Monday. **

**Meh, fluff and angst. A lot of Ren thinking to herself. And then probably the last Kenny/Ren fluff for quite a while. I still have a love/hate relationship with this story. **

**I don't own South Park, or else Kenny would show his face a lot more often and Tweek would be in every episode. I also don't own any of the songs I mention.**

**Random fact: On my desk, I have a Kyle bobblehead that says, "Sick, dude, I'm not kissing a girl. It's just wrong, that's all!"**

"Hey, Ginger!" A familiar whiny voice calls out the familiar unwanted nickname in my direction. _For the last time, loser, I don't have freckles, and my red hair is fake. _ I don't know why I even care. All I know is, Eric Cartman is just about the last person I want to talk to right now. I force myself to keep staring straight ahead and quicken my pace as I take the giant headphones that have been resting around the back of my neck and place them over my ears. Jimmy Urine is screaming obscenities to me when I feel the hand on my shoulder. I spin around.

"Damn it, Cartman. Just fuck off." The boy's shoulders slump as he cocks his head and tries on an almost-apologetic pout. I reluctantly move my headphones back off my ears and flick the volume down. "What you did to Tweek was one of the shittiest things I have ever…" I put my hands up and wave them in a "stay away" gesture. "Just…I have class. Go bother someone el-"

"Jeez, Ginger, I just wanted to say hi. You didn't notice me behind you in line at the Registrar's Office back there, so I followed you out to say hello." His voice is oozing with saccharine; Cartman has positively mastered the art of being fake-nice.

I narrow my eyes at him as I absorb his implication. "You know what's sad? You're funny and fun to be around a lot of the time. But there's something…misfiring in that brain of yours that makes you about _this close-_" I gesture with my two fingers "-to being a-a sociopath. People might actually like you more if you spent half as much time being genuine as you do being manipulative and sneaky. If I were you, I'd take a good look at myself before it's too late." I realize that it sounds as if I actually c_are _about him. Maybe I do. Or maybe I just care about everyone who has to deal with him.

A nearly imperceptible emotion flickers in his eyes for an instant, but it is gone before I can name it. His face twists into a nasty sneer. "And why should I listen to a trailer-trash-chasing sheep fucker?"

Cartman calling Kenny "trailer trash" pisses me off more than his moronic attempt at an ethnic slur. Without thinking, I rear back and throw a punch right at his squishy gut. When I connect, I can feel that he is solid underneath the layer of pudge. He doubles over for a second, clutching at his stomach, then lifts his head to look up at me. Cartman looks pathetic bent over like this; he has the audacity to look emotionally, if not physically, hurt. I'm shocked at myself and am unsure what to do. I turn and run, and I don't stop until I'm back in my room with my door locked.

-XXX-

"He called you a _what?" _Kyle and Stan are sitting on my giant bed, sharing a container of "shitty" sweet'n'sour shrimp from City Wok. Stan is in stitches while Kyle quizzes me about my run-in with Cartman.

"He called me a 'trailer-trash-chasing sheep fucker.' 'Sheep fucker' was his attempt at an ethnic slur—really creative, right? But he kind of got it wrong, because as far as I know my ethnicity is actually Irish—I was only born in Scotland. But I guess it works either way…" I trail off and pick up my shitty veggie roll from City Sushi and join the boys on the bed. A long sigh escapes me. "I've never just…punched someone before. It felt like a reflex. Like, he insulted both me and Kenny in one sentence, and I was thinking about Tweek, and it was like the doctor hitting my knee with that little hammer. Like, _BAM, _there goes my fist." I sigh and scrape my bangs back from my forehead with a somewhat unsteady hand. Whether it is shaky due to anger or anticipation, I'm not sure. I get up again and sit the sushi back on the desk. "I probably deserved the insult this time. I think I called him a sociopath."

Kyle's face reddens and his eyes get bigger as he jumps up. "But he _is _a fucking sociopath! He is insecure and manipulative and he doesn't give a shit about anyone else unless he decides he feels like it. And the worst part is, in a few days, everyone will just forgive him as if nothing ever happened. He'll be hanging around again in no time, just you wait!" The redhead punctuates this by periodically stabbing his chopsticks in the air. In his vehemence, he doesn't notice that his ushanka has fallen off. Stan takes it and hides it behind the desk while I try not to snicker. Kyle notices my eyes straying and stops his rant. "What? What is it, you g-"He reaches up and pats his unruly curls. "Oh, God damn it!" Kyle's angry flush deepens as he turns toward Stan, who holds up both hands.

"I'm innocent." Stan fails at keeping a straight face. I look at my shoes and study a spot near my left big toe until I hear Kyle start to laugh.

"Fuck it. I'll get you later, dude." Kyle points at Stan with the word "you" and then turns back to face me. "But, God, Ren, I can't believe you actually slugged him in the gut."

"Yeah, me neither, really. I feel…kinda bad about it. I mean, his f_ace…_"

"Nah, don't. He probably liked it," Stan says around a mouthful of shitty shrimp. Kyle rolls his eyes and nods in agreement. I say nothing; I'm suddenly feeling impatient to escape this room and this conversation.

I look at my phone and see that it is almost eleven o'clock. "Shit, you guys. I gotta go. You can stay here and play the PS3 if you want. I can leave the spare key if you promise to lock up." I cross the room and rummage through the desk drawer for the key. "Oh, and I never ate my sushi, so help yourselves," I add as an afterthought.

Stan looks at his watch. "Where are you…? Ohhhh…you're going to see Kenny." He says this with raised eyebrows and what I'm sure he thinks is a "knowing" smile.

"Maybe." I can't even keep a straight face while thinking about it, so I give up trying. I grab my bag. "So are you staying, or going back next door?"

Kyle looks at Stan, then at me, and back at Stan again. He flashes a conspiratorial smile. "Actually," he says, "why don't we go rearrange our room so that we have a big bed like this one? This is such a cool idea."

Stan looks at me in surprise and I have to stifle the "I told you so" that threatens to come out of my mouth.

-XXX-

The tree outside Kenny's window is unruly and overgrown, but the perfect height to serve my purpose. I'm surprised he hasn't ever trimmed it back; some of the branches probably scrape the pane on windy nights. I'm sure there's some sort of poetry in the bare fingers of trees tapping at the glass, but any lyrical beauty in this thought is lost on me-it would only scare the hell out of me. I lean against the tree trunk and briefly wish that I were a smoker, as if somehow it would validate my hesitation, explain my pause as I let my thoughts finally play tag with each other in the absence of any other human being's influence.

At times, I feel like climbing isn't a choice. An utter need for freedom and a different perspective possesses me, and I can only find the answers high in the branches of a tree. Tonight, the knot of emotions I'm trying to untangle carried me to the tree outside Kenny's window in lieu of the front door. Now that I'm here, I feel the need to postpone my visit just a few minutes longer. I sink down and sit, resting against the base of the tree. The stillness of my body gives my mind permission to accelerate.

I cannot allow myself to even _think _the word that lurking on the outskirts of my mind, cannot open the gates and free the feeling that that word connotes. _Weeks, Ren. It's been _weeks…_surely that isn't conventional. _I brush the word "conventional" from my mind; it is increasingly clear that no such thing exists, anywhere, especially not here in South Park. _If everyone's definition of a word is the same, but their interpretation of it is different…then their actual rendition of it will differ greatly. Does that then mean that the entire concept is obsolete? _I apply this exploration to the other word, the one that I can't extinguish even with the loudest music blasting in my ears, and decide that while the first part may be true, the answer to the last question is _no. _

Or maybe I'm just hopeful and misguided. Either way, it's just a word—a word that pathetically attempts to give a name to a feeling. That word and that feeling don't have to contain anything other than themselves. We all seem to attach to emotions some implication about a past, or a future; some _expectation _that only ever serves to brutally murder the very passion that inspired it. _You're doing it anyway, _I tell myself. _You are overthinking it. _The sound of my phone liberates me from further exploration of the inner workings of my mind, effectively saving me from further _overthinking_. I quickly silence it. The text from Wendy is only two words long:

**-my hero**

I snicker and put the phone back in my bag. No doubt she's gotten word about my momentary loss of temper. I'm glad everyone else is amused; I still feel guilty about my outburst, but it's something I'll deal with later. I try to take the others' reactions to heart. They have all known Cartman a lot longer than I have. I really can't justify my actions to myself, but everyone else seems convinced that the whole ordeal will pass as if nothing ever even occurred. I have some sort of inexplicable weak spot for the boy. I briefly wonder what it means about me that I am concerned about my almost-friendship with a sneaky, Machiavellian opportunist like Cartman, but I file the train of thought away for another time. Tonight is about Kenny.

I'm a little apprehensive in respect to the main reason for my surprise visit. My impromptu founding of the "Malcolm Kinloch Scholarship" (the silly name I've given to my act of paying Kenny's tuition with a tiny portion of my inheritance) was far from well-thought-out. I realize I'm going to have to explain to him how it really _isn't _a big deal, and I'm not sure how to even do that without coming off like a desperate, maladjusted interloper, or worse, alienating _him_. I sigh. The words will come to me when I need them. I hope. I run through the logic once more. Kenny has unexplored depths of academic potential, but lacks the funds for college. I have a large sum of my brother's money, but…well, lack a decent _purpose _for it, I guess. This is where the logic is flawed, I realize. _What do I stand to gain from my—dare I say it—act of charity? _I try to replace the word that Butters once uttered. In my mind, he spat it like a curse, even though I'm pretty sure I'm exaggerating; Butters is nearly incapable of such inflection. Forget charity; it was an act of friendship, plain and simple, no matter how impromptu or inconceivable. To me, money is nothing. I grew up under the impression that we were barely scraping by, only to find after Malcolm's death that he was some sort of stock market genius. Friends, on the other hand, were conspicuously absent from my life, their importance downplayed in my brother's periodic "you and me against the world" speeches. Here in South Park, I feel surrounded by friends, and have quickly developed a feeling of protectiveness for every one of them. It's an emotion that should feel foreign to me, but doesn't. I may not have had real, close friends, but I did have to be fiercely protective of _myself. _It dawns on me that I have probably _not _been a good friend to myself or anyone else; it's possible that if I think about it long enough, I could compare my sneakiness to one of Cartman's antics. My stunt probably crosses all sorts of lines, and my only explanation is that I didn't grow up with the same sorts of customs and mores as just about every other American kid.

A stray cat mewls in the distance, startling me out of my pensive state. My heart gives a silly little leap. Just the thought of being wrapped in Kenny's arms makes me forget all my melancholy musings. I'm suddenly impatient to see him; a phantom jolt of adrenaline inspires me to move.

I stand, shaking the pins and needles from my left leg. After placing the strap of my bag across my body, I jump, securing my hands around a low-ish branch. With one swing of my legs up and over the bark, I make my way up to a sturdy limb that affords me a perfect view into Kenny's window. I can see about half of his room; from the door, past a dresser, to the corner where he moved his bed a few nights ago after I shyly explained that _I needed to sleep with my back to a wall_. I'm literally three-and-a-half feet away from the windowsill. From here, it looks like the window is half-open. After settling in with my back against the trunk, I rummage in my bag for a few pennies to flick at the window. When I look up, I see that Kenny, dressed in cut-off cargo pants and a black t-shirt, is now sitting on the edge of his bed. He is picking at the strings of an old acoustic guitar. I don't want to spy on him, but neither do I want to interrupt; his expression is one of intense concentration mixed with something else I can't quite define. Something about his posture, his…_aura, _freezes me in place. I put the pennies in my hoodie pocket and make myself more comfortable in the crook between the trunk and the branch.

I begin to vaguely recognize the song as my eyes follow Kenny's long-fingered hands. He fondles the instrument like a pro, gracefully sweeping through each note. He picks up speed, and the ups and downs finally become more than familiar: it's Jeff Buckley's version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." Kenny pulls this off almost effortlessly; playing is completely natural for him. I know he said in the treehouse that he could play guitar, but I had no idea he could…_play. _ A transient thought interrupts the moment—_Why didn't he play for me when I was here the other night?—_but there are so many obvious answers that I toss it away. I'm beginning to wonder how he hasn't yet noticed me, out here _staring, _when he starts to sing.

His voice nearly knocked me senseless the first time I heard him speak, but now I have to brace myself so that I don't literally fall from the tree. I notice that I've been slowly creeping forward on the branch, closing the distance between my ears and blonde boy just through the window. He sounds at once innocent and experienced, sexy and chaste, shy and confident. He sings with a slight accent that isn't there when he speaks, something picked up from growing up on this side of South Park perhaps, that breaks my heart and thrills me. Like this, Kenny looks out of context with the dimly-lit room and the dingy walls and the devastated hardwood floor. He exudes pure confidence, but it's a humble confidence that isn't the product of coddling and flattery; he's earned it.

I spend the next six minutes hypnotized by the song—no, by _Kenny performing _the song. I feel almost as if I am seeing something rare and intimate, something I was not yet supposed to see. Watching this uncensored and somber side of Kenny is like overhearing a secret. I subconsciously knew that his exuberance and charisma and flirtatiousness were balanced out by _something_, but witnessing this something hits a place inside me that I thought I had securely locked away. I would call it _absolute trust _but that isn't quite the right term, and beyond that, the idea is crazy. I think back to the one time I told a would-be friend the brief version of my life story. She told her parents, who reneged their permission for her to sleep over at my place after hearing that my still-young brother served as my guardian. I was inconsolable. _"You can't just tell all your secrets up front, Renny," _Malcolm said. _"If you go in without walls, you just end up building them as time goes on, and that's backwards. I know all about you, though, and I won't abandon you in that way." _A few days and several giant oatmeal cookies later, I forgot about it and moved on. But this. This is different. I suddenly want to tell him all my secrets and relish any pain that may result from such immodesty. To hell with conventions. Something inside me is screaming _you love this boy_, and I'm saving my energy for a greater fight than one with my own thoughts.

I can't bring myself to toss pennies at his window after what I've seen and heard. I have a better idea. I find my phone and hold it in a death grip as Kenny sings my favorite line of the song:

"…_all i've ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you…'_

As he plays the last few notes, I type out a text.

**-don't freak out, but come look outside your window**

When Kenny transitions from "Hallelujah" to simple chords and starts messing around and tuning the guitar, I hit "send" and hope his phone is charged. Seconds later, his phone, which is on the dresser, lights up. I watch as his face takes on a "huh?" expression, as he leans his guitar against the wall and gets up to check the message. After a moment, I hear him laugh. _Thank God._ A smile takes over his face as he walks to the window, lifts it a few more inches, and sticks his head out.

"How long have you been hanging in my tree?"

"Well, I was just going to toss some pennies at the window to get your attention, but then you walked into the room and started playing 'Hallelujah,' so I just…watched. Not too long."

He smirks. "Darn, you missed it…about half an hour ago I was walking around naked and dripping wet because I couldn't find a damn towel." I roll my eyes. "But…" I can't be positive, but I think Kenny is blushing. He gestures weakly toward the guitar, and then moves his hand to the back of his head. "…I didn't know I had an audience, I mean, I just mess around, but-"

"Shut up, you were amazing. Now are you going to come downstairs and let me in, or do you want me to sit in your tree and spy on you all night?"

-XXX-

When Kenny comes to the door, he is wearing a black hoodie, and it looks as if he has brushed his hair. I immediately reach out and mess it up again, and he pulls me into a hug. He hasn't even asked why I'm here so late, which makes me happier than it should. He breaks the embrace but takes my hand.

"Come on," he says as he gestures toward the kitchen with his head. "Do you want coffee or something? I'm sure my mom will want to see you, too."

"She's awake? It's like…tomorrow already."

"Of course. She takes night school and doesn't let out until ten. She's playing with her severed head in there."

I make a face but follow Kenny into the kitchen. Carol is standing at the table, painting highlights into the hair of a mannequin head. She finishes one with a flourish and looks up, gesturing at the creepy thing.

"This is Miss Amanda. No matter how many times I mess up, she never complains. She doesn't tip, though, either." I laugh; Kenny rolls his eyes as if he's heard this one before. "What are you two up to? No, wait, don't tell me. I'll just be jealous; I'm stuck here with a plastic head full of real human hair and a tub of bleach. I have to pass a test next week."

I laugh and sit down at the table as Kenny messes around in the cabinets. "Wow, it really does say 'Miss Amanda' on the back of her neck," I muse. "Where does the hair come from? It's not…" I shudder, wondering if the hair was cut from Jane Does in some morgue.

"Eastern Europe, mostly. Women there grow their hair out and sell it. At least that's what they tell us at school." Carol shrugs, and opens her mouth to say something, but Kenny's phone beeps loudly, and for some reason we both turn to him with expectant expressions. As he reads the text, his eyes widen and he lets out a laugh that conveys delight and disbelief.

"You…punched…Cartman…in the gut?"

I throw my head back and sigh in exasperation. "Ugh, is that going to be the hot gossip for the week? Who even texted you? Does the whole town know? Come on, he pissed me off, it was a reflex." Carol snickers. I turn to look at her, still peeved.

"Whaaat?" I ask.

"Someone needed to put that little prick in his place. I wish I could have seen it." I smile. I forgot that Cartman and Kenny grew up together, so Carol likely saw or otherwise dealt with many of his asinine acts. Kenny comes up behind me and tugs on my arm.

"He's probably in love with you now, you know. Now _I'll _have to fight him off." As ridiculous as this is, it makes me smile. He tugs on my arm again. "Come on, let's go upstairs." I shoot Carol an apologetic look and let Kenny lead me to his room.

-XXX-

"Can you play 'Yellow Ledbetter'?" I ask. I'm sitting on the floor, watching Kenny play as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"Pearl Jam fan?"

"Not really, I just remember one of my brother's friends coming over with a guitar, and he was bitching about how it was such a difficult song. Maybe he was just an idiot; I know nothing about music."

"Neither do I."

I pick up something that looks suspiciously like a dirty, balled-up sock, and chuck it at Kenny's head. "Come on. Worst lie ever. "

"No, really. I can't read or write music. I just…play by ear. I pick at the notes until I get it right, and string it all together-"

"Are you serious? That's like, even more amazing. You obviously have a talent. What are you doing in philosophy classes? You need to be in music classes!" I clap my hand over my mouth. I still haven't decided _how _to tell Kenny that I paid his tuition for the semester. "Hey, I need to tell you something," I blurt out without thinking.

"Not before I ask you something first," he says with a smile as he leans the guitar against the wall again. For a boy who supposedly doesn't talk much, he sure interrupts me a lot. I wait. "How do you feel about camping?" I take a breath, but of course he doesn't let me answer. "I kind of owe you a road trip, and school's closed the whole week after midterms…I know it's kind of far off, but I've always wanted to see Zion National Park, and-"

It's my turn to interrupt. "As in Utah? Oh wow, I'd love that, but…can you handle being in a car with me for ten hours?"

"I'd enjoy it. Or I could just drop some sleeping pills into your drink when you aren' t looking." He flashes an evil smile and I jump up from the floor and tackle him. Once I am straddling him with both wrists pinned to the bed, I smile.

"I'll go only if you promise me you'll keep any and all sedatives away from my beverages."

"Are you going to hit me, too?" Kenny asks through a smile.

"Don't push it." I move to his side and grab his arm, trying to pull him up. "Here, sit up. And lose the hoodie." He gives me a questioning look, but obeys. I slide behind him and sit up on my knees. "I promised you a backrub, remember? You're just getting the basic version for now, though." Just the sight of the back of his neck makes my pulse go haywire. I close my eyes and begin to gently knead the spot, melting a little when I hear his little sigh. "You know, it's weird."

"What…is?" he asks.

"My..career path, I guess you'd call it. I mean, I'll have to…touch people all day long."

"Yeah, that's kind of central to chiropractic, right? I mean, why is that weird?"

I take a breath. "Well…I learned some…" I sigh and start over. "I didn't exactly have a 'normal' childhood. I'm pretty sure I grew up thinking that 'other people' were the enemy. I didn't have real friends. I mean, I wasn't socially inept; I had friends from sports, and hung out and all, but I never got close to anyone." I let out a bitter laugh. "I'm pretty sure it's my brother's fault I was kind of a slut in high school." Kenny reaches up and takes my hands in his, so I'm leaning against his back with my arms around him. He doesn't say a word, though, so I continue. "He had this…speech he would always give me. 'You don't want to touch other people unless absolutely necessary. People are repulsive and carry germs and other things that can hurt you.' I think back now and it sounds…insane. But I looked up to him, so for a while…it was law. I believed it. And then, when I was 14, I discovered that touching people could be a good thing, and I did it whenever I could: in the janitor's closet, under the bleachers, on someone's sofa at a party…" I stop, wondering what Kenny is thinking. "He told me that I shouldn't care about friends, about forming close relationships. All I needed was him and I. I guess I'm glad I realized that was…odd…when I did." I shut up, fearing the worst, worried that I have said too much. Part of me wonders if I am just spilling this to defy everything Mac once told me, but I push away that thought. Maybe I'm being reckless, but I honestly want to share everything with Kenny. _Everything. _He turns and looks me in the eye.

"Did _he_…touch _you_?" His voice is thick with insinuation; I know what he is asking.

"No, God no. Not like that. He was…strange. He looked at me, like…like the fact that I was his half-sister didn't matter, but the fact that I was a child _did. _So he was…creepy, in a way, now that I think of it. I just always assumed it was affection, but the older I got, the more I suspected something was…off. I think a lot of secrets died with him. Stuff I'll never know. I came o South Park thinking any oddities in my personality would fit in with the eccentric small-town thing you guys have going here. It's like…I don't know a thing about boundaries, I'm pretty sure I have no idea what is appropriate in most social situations, and I think to myself so much that I'm convinced I've said things aloud…when I haven't." I shake my head and try to change the subject. I'm more scared to tell him what I did earlier than I was to tell him more about my childhood, but I press on. "You know, I was trying to tell you earlier…my brother was some stock market genius, but he never told me. I found out after he died, when I inherited his estate. We lived in an RV for four years, and the goddamn lawyer told me we could have been living anywhere we pleased." I'm stumbling over words and probably not making sense, but Kenny is still listening intently. "So…" I search for a way to express _"I have this big inheritance and no sense of what is appropriate when it comes to friends and money, so, yeah, I paid for your classes" _without sounding completely batty. I laugh to myself, decide to blurt it out, and squeeze my eyes shut as I inhale. When I open my mouth again to speak, everything goes black.

"What the hell?" I ask. I hear Carol yell "God damn it!" from downstairs. Kenny heaves a sigh and jumps from the bed, presumably to feel around for his phone. When he finds it, he uses the light from the screen to locate a flashlight in a drawer. He sits it upright on the dresser so it shines upwards like a lamp.

"Apparently, the landlady didn't pay the electric bill again." I must look confused, because he continues. "Utilities are included with rent, which is great, but she 'forgets' to pay about three times a year. Everything gets shut off until someone pays." He looks down at his feet. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"It's okay. Lived in an RV, remember? In small-town Alaska. Electricity was…sporadic at best." I can't help but feel a little relieved; I can put off telling him for at least a few more minutes. I decide to share something else instead. "You know, I'm actually pretty scared of the dark. I deal with it, but every moment feels like a year. It just terrifies me. What lurks in the darkness, what uses the shadows as cover?"

"You do."

"What?"

"You do. Don't think about 'what lurks in the darkness', because _you _do. Whatever it is you're scared of, don't think about it using the darkness as a cloak. Don't think it is stalking you or lying in wait. Think of yourself as the one hiding in the shadows, waiting to attack whatever _it _is. I promise you, if you start thinking that way, you'll learn to appreciate the dark."

"I never thought of it that way. Of course, right now, you're here. I'm not alone, so it doesn't matter. I wouldn't feel so brave if I were in my room, or lost in the woods or something." I reach out my hand, inviting Kenny to come back to the bed. When he does, I reach over to the flashlight and click it off. I'm too busy getting close to him to notice the utter blackness that fills the room.

-XXX-

I awake to the sound of a garbage truck chugging down the block. My phone is lying near my head, so I press the button on the side to check the time. It's 5:22am. To my right, Kenny is sleeping on his side, his back to me. I run a finger down his bare skin, wishing I could stay right here forever. He stirs and rolls over onto his back. I lay my head on his chest and gaze out the window at the still-visible stars. His steady breathing tells me he is still asleep. "It's crazy, isn't it, that I'm falling in love with you?" I whisper. Kenny's breath quickens almost imperceptibly, and for a second, I panic. Closing my eyes again, I freeze in place. _Shit, shit, shit. Oh well. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. _I repeat this mantra for about five minutes before realizing that if he _did _hear me, he didn't freak out, and he most likely _didn't _hear me anyway. I push myself up and crawl over him, reluctant to leave but somehow feeling that I should.

I find an old receipt and a pen in my bag and scribble out a note:

_I really wasn't sure how else to tell you. I did this without thinking, but I'm glad _

_I did. Consider it a testament to how much I believe in you. Come find me after _

_class tomorrow (today?). _

_-Ren_

I lay this on top of the "paid in full" printout I got from the registrar's office and leave it on his dresser. As I tiptoe down the stairs and let myself out the front door, I can't help but feel like I need to shake off some awkwardness that has reclaimed me. I feel like I'm mentally viewing an unfamiliar yet misspelled word; something is w_rong _but I can't put my finger on it. I chalk it up to three hours' sleep and the eerie morning air, and make my way home. _Everything is okay, _ I tell myself. _Everything is just as it should be._

**A/N: If you are tempted to go download Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah," **_**do it. **_**And then listen to it about eighty times in a row and become Jeff-obsessed like me, haha. It just seemed like something my version of Kenny would play. So, yeah. **

**I feel blah about this one, but it's necessary to get to the rest of the story, which is going to be like a roller coaster. I'll get the next one up faster. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers—and thanks for being patient—I got really sick last week. **

**Random fact: I probably like Kenny so much because my first "boyfriend" was named Kenny. We were eight years old. He passed me love notes in class, and our moms would take us to meet at places like the public pool. Oddly enough, one of our favorite things to play was "save Kenny from dying." I remember spending one entire day "saving" him from "drowning" in the pool. Once, he gave me a really pretty ring with a blue stone in it. I took it home and showed my mother, who noticed some engraving on the inside. It was his mother's name. Yep, he swiped a ring from his mother and gave it to me. I hate to think what happened to him after my mom called his mom. **

**Oh, and he really **_**did **_**live in the trailer park. **


End file.
